


Sang a Lady Radiant

by fanpirex (Kingsy)



Series: Song of the Faithful [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Average OC, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Killing with kindness, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Nonmagical OC, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, The Little People - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2019-11-06 03:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17931602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingsy/pseuds/fanpirex
Summary: There, in the heart of them, sang a Lady radiantAnd clad in armour of bright steel.~ Canticle of Shartan 9:23, Dissonant VerseOllie doesn't know why she ended up in Thedas, but she wants it to be a better world when she leaves, one way or another. She just has to figure out how to work around Solas and the Inquisition itself.





	1. In Darkness Unbroken

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda nervous about this fic. Most of my favourite stories come from this fandom, so I feel a certain sense of duty and expectation. Also my first time using second person perspective. We'll see how it goes...
> 
> I have played this game many times and I'm generally a bit of a completionist, but if I get anything wrong, PLEASE let me know. I haven't played Origins for quite a while and my last Dragon Age 2 play-through was a couple years ago as well. As much as I adore this franchise and have done for nearly a decade, I'm sure I'll slip up somewhere, even after lots of research into the lore.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Andraste 1:7

"Sing another, Ollie," the children begged and giggled, hanging onto your skirts. You smiled and bopped some on the nose.

"Another time, little doves; the moons are rising."

They reluctantly wandered off, some running home, others plotting mischief no doubt. Flissa laughed as she wiped a swerving jug. "I never thought so many children would be in my tavern so late. I can't decide if their parents should be happy, or worried they spend so much time here rather than chasing about the stables and lake."

You leant against the counter near her. "As long as they're not causing trouble, I'll keep them entertained. It's the least I can do. Everyone has been so generous."

“How can we be anything but when you help out so much?” Flissa flicked her drying cloth at you. “Go on now, the regulars are soon to come and I don’t want their meaty paws near ya.”

You held up your hands. “I’m in complete agreement, fair lady.” You dipped into a small curtsy as she laughed and shooed you out the door.

You bounced contently along the dirt path, dodging the still busy servants and avoiding the soldiers just retiring from the training grounds. People with weapons alarmed you. You had only once made the mistake of accidentally bumping into a man with a dagger. Never again.

The sheer prejudice in this world still outraged you. Upon first arriving you had been under the impression that it was only elves who got shit on (which was still awful to you), but you’d quickly discovered that anyone remotely considered less, usually due to poverty, were treated like dirt.

Point in fact, only those considered ‘worthy’ in Haven had actual lodgings. Admittedly, the soldiers were relegated to tents too, from lack of space, but the tents they were given could be _palaces_ when considering the tiny propped up scrap of fabric that at least five servants were crammed into at a time.

You yourself shared with three other human women and one elven woman. Ilene, the elf was called, and she kept to herself at all times possible. You couldn’t blame her after seeing the contempt with which the other humans looked at her.

You had always been an idealist in secret. Witnessing such blatant injustice in this world forced your mind to whirl and scheme. You’d had nothing when you came here and now look at you. You could climb up in ranks, establish some kind of influence over people. Use your foreknowledge for the good of others like Ilene.

It had been one of the first thoughts you’d had (after panic and despair slowly petered out of you) when you first appeared here. It had never left your brain, even after all this time.

You had been here for months now, nearly a year in fact. 'Life in Thedas' was becoming simply 'life' and that was a scary concept.

You considered yourself lucky however; you had arrived just before the mayhem of templars and mages warring one another openly. Knowing what this meant, hope sparked within you and you had begun the long journey to Haven.

Thankful that you were good at reading maps, you had made it there in reasonable time, only four months. Your feet were always sore and your hands had built up lifetimes’ worth of callouses and you were tired of eating barely edible stew, but you were finally able to settle amongst the villagers with little fanfare. There were some kind faces there, people who helped you when they saw you in need, and you managed to keep well under the radar when news of the conclave spread.

You had now gotten into a sort of routine. You would rise early, help the servants with breakfast in the tavern, go to the stables and muck out stalls, dig some more latrines, swiftly bathe in the communal servants’ bath, fetch flora and fauna for the apothecary, help with dinner in the kitchens, round up the bored children and sing them songs, wash bedding then hang it to dry, and finally collapse onto your meagre bedroll to sleep and start it all over. Somewhere throughout all that, you would eat, though you knew it wasn’t nearly enough to sustain this amount of activity for much longer.

You were merely waiting until the Breach appeared. You planned to get close to the herald and show her how important it was to help the little people. With any luck, you’d be able to avoid all the inner circle, especially the advisors. You didn’t want to complicate things and getting their attention would hamper your plans.

You caught your first glimpse of Cassandra and Leliana the same week of your one-year anniversary here. It was exciting and you nearly knocked over a pail of water as you scrubbed some bedsheets. You wondered who the herald would be, if she was an elf or maybe a human. The last time you played, she'd been a dwarf.

But the herald wasn't a she at all. The realisation, days later after the conclave exploded, as guards dragged an unconscious man whose hand spat green sparks, sent rocks into your stomach. A male herald meant you weren't in any worlds you'd influenced; you wouldn't know what choices would be made. It was terrifying.

Your plans were rethought. You still avoided the companions and you still worked your arse off every day, staring up at the green sky and frantically trying to decide what to do. When the herald finally woke up and was dragged from the chantry to fix the Breach, you were among the masses who stared.

Unlike their hateful gazes, yours was analytical. The prisoner was tall and broad, packed out with dense muscle and sporting short, slightly wavy brown hair not unlike yours. He walked hunched over which you were sure was due to the manacles binding his wrists rather than bad posture; he was clearly nobility. His skin was clear and his teeth white. He was handsome and very human.

Trevelyan, you summarised. You wondered if he was a mage.

When Cassandra pulled him from view, you went back to your chores, shaking your head. You were still unsure what you should do. For now, you chose to bide your time and simply watch.


	2. Great Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Andraste 1:2

Everything was simply chugging along without issues when he saw you. Something about you apparently caught his eye; perhaps the way you joked with Flissa or the contempt with which you gazed at the drunkard who laid hands on you. It changed everything.

You’d kept tabs on everyone ‘important’ and were always hyperaware when in their presence. You watched from the corner of your eye as he whispered to Varric, who grinned and ushered him on, before he slowly meandered over to you.

"You are simply beautiful, miss," he smiled bashfully.

You pretended not to recognise him. "I'm not simply anything, serrah."

He laughed, a quiet sound, as if he wanted to shrink into himself and disappear.

You hadn't expected the future inquisitor to be so shy.

Plans almost instantly slotting into place, you smiled back and cocked your hip subtly. “My name’s Ollie, serrah.”

Clearly instinctive, he bent into a bow, “I’m Maxwell, my lady.”

You looked him over and openly contemplated him. He seemed nervous at your observations. “Well I can’t call you that, my lord.”

“Oh.” His shoulders slumped and his right hand rubbed at the mark. You knew everyone was calling him ‘Herald’.

“I think I’ll call you Max, much less stuffy.” You grinned at him cheerfully.

He blinked and smiled, relaxing. “It would be my pleasure, Lady Ollie.”

“I’m no lady, Max. And quite happy not to be. Would hate to have to hold my nose so high up in the air all the time.”

Shocked, he laughed louder than before and nodded.

You noticed Varric watching very closely but focused only on Max. You would make this man crave your opinion and approval. Seduction was the easiest start and he’d made the first move by himself. You hid your satisfaction. Manipulating wasn’t your favourite pastime, but it was now necessary.

Thedas would be a better place once you were done with it. You were determined.

* * *

You made yourself scarce over the next few days. From the shadows, you saw Max search every crowd, saw him crane his head high until it sagged with disappointment. You waited until his next departure for the Hinterlands. As he readied his own horse (an action which surprised you just a tad), you pushed through the bustling workers, a woven basket in your arms, and pretended to bump into Cassandra.

Your subtle cry of surprise and your stumble back had the Seeker reach out to steady you. When you glanced up at her, you barely let your eyes lock with hers before you curtsied. “My lady, I’m so sorry!”

Just as you predicted, the sound of your voice had Max’s head turning faster than Cassandra could protest the title.

“’Twas no bother, truly,” she assured you, and you were secretly pleased with her polite attitude towards a servant.

“Ollie,” Max said quietly, but his face had a wide smile. You had ignored his approach and only now turned to him, smiling back.

“Max, lovely to see you. Though it looks like you’re leaving.”

“Oh, um, I am. The Hinterlands need a lot of help to sort out this mess.”

You winked at him. “And who better than the herald?”

He blushed so deeply you worried for his blood pressure. “I don’t do it alone.”

As if to solidify his statement, Cassandra spoke up, looking between you both. “Are you well acquainted?”

“No, no,” you waved it off. “We only met the other day. Actually, I shouldn’t bother you any longer; you clearly have important tasks ahead and I too have many chores.”

As you moved to pass, Max cleared his throat nervously. “Would you like to join me in the tavern when I return?”

You gave him a playfully suspicious look. “Trying to compromise my integrity, Max? Awfully cheeky of you.”

He stuttered, “Of course not, Lady Ollie! I merely meant to accompany you to dinner if I may.”

You laughed kindly. “Don’t fret, Max, I’m joking. I have no integrity left to compromise, I assure you, because a lady I am not.” Cassandra made a quiet noise in the back of her throat that you understood to be vague disgust, likely at your flirting. As Max continued to flounder and the Seeker left you to stand alone, you stepped forward and placed a graceful hand on his upper arm.

“Honestly, Max, calm down or I shan’t be able to take you up on your offer.”

He blinked, dumbfounded before licking his lips quickly. “So you’ll share dinner with me?”

“Only if you call me just Ollie,” you emphasised, grinning.

He nodded eagerly.

“You ready, Charming?” came from a voice behind.

Varric was twirling a bolt between his fingers as he looked you both over, smirking.

“Messere Tethras,” you curtsied again.

“Ah, none of that. I just came over to steal your suitor, don’t mind me.”

While Max blushed once again, you smiled and inclined your head. “I see. I’ll allow your thievery just this once, but in future I will require payment.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a thief then, would I?” Varric’s eyes seemed to grin for him.

“Well I don’t really take to thieves, truth be told,” you shrugged.

He considered this seriously and then bowed. “Perhaps I’ll switch jobs then. But only for you.”

“How gracious.”

“This is Ollie,” Max said quickly, clearly not wanting to be left out. You smiled.

“You should both be on your way,” you remarked, observing Cassandra and Solas obviously waiting nearby. You avoided the Dread Wolf’s gaze, a topic for another day, instead reaching into your basket and pulling forth a single flower. “For your journey, Max.”

You tucked the purple poppy into the folds of his leather armour and smiled at him.

He put a hand over it carefully, his skin so delightfully pink, and mumbled a thank you. “Safe travels,” you wished both him and Varric who grinned, and waved them goodbye as you entered Haven’s gates.

You could hear the dwarf teasing Max and his loud laughter. You congratulated yourself on a successful plan and went about your day, leaving the other flowers with Flissa who pressed a kiss to your cheek in gratitude. While Max and his party went about helping the unfortunate civilians caught in the middle of war, you pondered how to tackle the trickster named pride.


	3. Calling Out for Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Silence 3:4, Dissonant Verse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly surprised at the reception this story has had. Thank you to everyone!

The children of Haven were relentless but adorable. You sang them so many songs, your voice croaked for an hour after each session. They made a game out of dancing around and with you, and patrons in the tavern now knew to steer clear of giggling little ones lest their mead end up on the floor. You attracted some attention doing this every day.

Many a time, you were rewarded with a cheer in the tavern once a song finished. When you made your way around the village doing chores, a soldier here and a blacksmith there would give you a friendly nod. You found your network growing with little effort, until most of the ‘little people’ in Haven knew you by name. Making sure to shy away from the ones with true power, you made yourself a friendly face.

You hadn’t realised how much this had worked until you were on your way to find more elfroot in the surrounding woods, basket in hand. A muffled cry rang in your ears and you initially froze. When sniffles accompanied it, you crept forward, keeping your body alert for danger.

A girl, maybe fifteen, was curled up at the base of a tree, sobbing into her ripped skirts. You rushed forward. “Are you all right?”

She startled so violently that you flinched yourself and stopped a few feet from her. Her tear-tracked cheeks were red and her brown hair messy and you saw bruises peeking out from under the tops of her dress.

Your heart fell as you understood. Lowering your voice so it was silky and sweet, you crouched where you’d stopped and crooned, “I’m Ollie. What’s your name?”

She blinked big brown eyes at you, her hair shifting away from pointed ears, and said nothing.

You kept a comforting smile on your lips. “I was just going to pick some elfroot for the apothecary. Would you like to help me? I really could use the company. I hate being by myself,” you fibbed.

After a moment, she nodded slightly.

“Brilliant! Shall we?” You waited until she started to stand before rising yourself.

You realised, as the redness of her crying left her cheeks, that one side was still pink from a handprint, but held your tongue. The two of you searched for the herb for nearly twenty minutes in silence, before you started to hum under your breath. This entire time she had snuck you glances, looking away quickly if you caught her. Now she turned to you hesitantly and said, “You’re the singing lady.”

You were pleasantly surprised. “I suppose I am. You can call me Ollie though.”

She seemed to consider something before nodding slowly. “I’m Marly.”

You beamed at her. “That’s a lovely name,” you told her and she blushed.

You both worked with companionable ease now until your basket was full of elfroot. As you led the way to the apothecary, she almost hid in your shadow, carefully keeping away from the human nobles walking by.

With a close eye on her, you knocked lightly on the open door to Adan’s hut and ushered her in before you.

“Got some elfroot,” you told the apothecary cheerfully. He grunted a thanks, not even acknowledging you both and you could see how Marly’s shoulders relaxed just the slightest at his lack of interest.

You began unloading your basket onto one of his work counters and smiled over to her where she stood nervously at your side. “Could you pass me the twine and scissors please?” You nodded to it and she quickly grabbed the items, putting them down next to you. “Thank you, dove.”

The tips of her ears blushed. You contained how adorable you thought that was and cut off some twine. She watched closely as you took a generous handful of elfroot, pinching the stems together, before tying it with the twine. Your little bundle was then hung to dry out on the rack above your head and you started on the next one.

You started to hum as you worked and slowly she joined you in separating the elfroot. When she fumbled with the scissors and cut herself, you stopped and she trembled, bowing her head and apologising as you reached for her bleeding hand.

“Shh, it’s all right,” you hushed her gently, cradling her hand and accessing the wound. It wasn’t too deep. Beads of blood collected on her skin only due to the notoriously delicate nature of extremities. “One moment,” you patted her wrist softly and turned away to grab a clean bandage from the corner of the room.

“I’m fine, my lady,” she insisted.

“You may be fine, but it would ease my worries to wrap your cut nonetheless. And I’m hardly a lady, Marly. Please let me do this for you.”

You waited patiently, strip of cloth in hand, and watched the indecision play out on her fair face. Only after she nodded, shoulders hunched up to her ears, did you bandage up her small wound.

“There,” you said, a motherly quality to your voice, “much better. Shall we get back to it?”

She nodded again, her mouth opened slightly in wonder, and once again helped you with the elfroot. You felt satisfied to fix at least one of her hurts, albeit the most superficial of them. Out of the corner of your eye, you studied the already lessening bruise on her face, so prominent in the bright sunlight filtering in from the open window.

When you were both finished, you chirped a farewell to Adan who waved absently over his shoulder, and left the hut.

“What duties must you attend?” you asked her.

She followed close on your heel but stumbled at your question. “I was given to Comte Louis Angevine for the duration of his stay.” She stuttered over his name.

“I suppose he’ll be wanting his supper soon,” you pondered and she bobbed her head shyly. “Well, I’m to help in the kitchens now so you might as well come with me.” Relief blossomed over her pretty face and you smiled blindingly at her.

The comte needed to be dealt with, you decided, and soon.


	4. Her Beacon and Her Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Transfigurations 10:2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing some more characters in this chapter. I hope you like how I'm expanding the world a bit!

You led the way to the tavern and waved to Flissa as you passed the bar into the kitchens. The hearth was already hot and servants scurried about everywhere, some of whom greeted you as you entered. These rooms alone made up half of the tavern’s size.

“How are you, Ollie?” Danford called over as he chopped up carrots.

“I’m good, Dan! How’s your wife?”

“Due any day and hating life,” he chuckled and you laughed with him.

Nanin appeared beside you, wiping his hands on his apron. “Who’s your friend?” He smiled at Marly, who had stayed half hidden behind you.

“This is Marly,” you introduced. “Marly, this is Nanin. He’s the friendliest person you’ll ever meet.”

“An’eth’ara,” he bowed shortly to her, his long ribbons of hair falling into his face.

“You really should tie back your hair; you work with food,” you chided him, smiling.

He smiled teasingly back. “You are welcome to braid it, as I have told you before, ma falon. Until you do, I shall wear it freely and let it grace the meals.”

Marly giggled, creeping forward. You shot him a pleased glance which he returned with a faint nod and you knew he could see the fading handprint on her cheek too, just as everyone else can.

It was unfortunately common for a servant to be beaten, especially elves. You knew Josephine’s personal servants were well-looked after, as were Leliana’s scouts, no matter their ear shape, but neither of the ladies were directly in charge of the large workforce that cooked and cleaned and laboured after everyone of influence. That dubious honour was given to a man named Illyrios and, partly, the quartermaster Threnn.

Nanin left you to continue with supper, his hair tucked behind his ears and you knew none would end up in dinner. Elves had annoyingly strong hair follicles, you’d found. Their hair grew long and healthy with little to no maintenance or malting. You would easily admit to being jealous, wanting the waist-length luscious hair every noble woman flaunted and thinking of your own chest-length waves with broken ends. Long hair was impractical for servants regardless and so you swallowed your mournful sigh.

Knowing she unlikely had any involvement in the actual preparation of food, you showed Marly to the stacks of dirty plates waiting to be cleaned. She was happy to wash them while you twirled about the kitchens, aiding the others in making this evening’s meal of hearty nug broth and bread for the regular folk. More specialised cooks, though still merely servants themselves, whipped up a fancy plate of cooked fennec with some greens and seasoned potatoes for the stuffy nobles.

An hour later, you approached Marly with a plate of the latter.

“Here,” you gave it to her, “for the comte.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she said quietly.

“None of that title nonsense, dove,” you smiled and she tried to give you one back. It was a valiant effort; you almost applauded. Slipping an arm through hers, careful not to jostle the plate, you brought yourself close to her. “Would you like me to accompany you? I have some free time.”

“Oh no, my-” she stopped and blanched at your look. “Really, I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble,” you assured her. You let a moment pass before you said, very gently, “I’d rather you weren’t alone with him after he’s already hurt you.”

She flinched back, the plate wobbling precariously.

You stroked her arm, hoping to calm her. “It’s all right. I really would like to go with you. Will you allow me the pleasure of your company?”

Shaking like a leaf, she thought on it for a long while, her eyes darting anywhere but in your direction. Finally, finally (after you considered tailing her there in the shadows), she agreed.

The plate was set onto a tray with utensils, an empty glass and a jug of lemon water. It was heavy and you offered to carry it, but she was firm in her refusal. She was obviously practised, and her arms took the weight without straining, no matter the bumps in terrain.

You followed her through Haven until you both came to the large wooden structure that had been quickly made up to house most of the visiting nobles. Two soldiers stood guard outside the large door and opened it for you as you passed through. You smiled at them both and dipped into a small curtsy. The woman cracked a grin back, though her male partner merely inclined his head.

Marly’s hands shook a little as the two of you passed several other busy servants and you both stopped outside a closed door. You made note of its location and looked to her with concern.

“Would you like me to deliver it?” you proposed.

She shook her head. “I can do it.” But her voice wasn’t confident, and her fingers gripped the tray so tightly they shone white.

“Please,” you said gently, touching her arm.

Her eyes had been staring at the door in panic but now she blinked, and tears flooded them. You held out a silent hand for the food, letting her make the final decision.

She let out a breath, her cheeks wet, and gave it to you, slumping.

“It’s all right,” you soothed, brushing her shoulder. “I’ll be just a moment, you wait right here.”

She nodded, breathing quickly now, and settled against the wall to collect herself as you knocked lightly on the door.

“Enter,” commanded a prissy voice from within and you clenched your jaw before putting a polite smile on your face and going inside.

You all but ignored the man sprawled out on a sofa, a wineglass dangling from his hand and a mask on his face. Walking straight to the little table, you placed the food down and arranged the cutlery. His eyes burned into your face.

“You’re new,” he commented, his voice purposely light, as if to portray his lack of caring. “Where’s the other one?”

“Sick, your lordship,” you told him, not looking up as you poured some lemon water into the glass and put them both near the plate.

He made a noise of distaste. “I like the little rabbit more. Tell her to get out of bed.”

Picking up the unburdened tray, you curtsied to him, lower than you had to the guards outside. “Of course, your lordship. Je suis désolé.”

He perked up immediately. “You do not look or sound Orlesian.”

You finally deigned to meet his gaze, smiling pleasingly. You studied the intricacies of his mask closely as you said, “I have travelled through Orlesian cities, but I am Fereldan, your lordship.”

“Bah, what a waste.”

“As you say, your lordship. Your supper,” you gestured, and he rose from the sofa lazily.

He sauntered towards you, sipping his red wine. As he got closer, you watched his very blue eyes scan you from head to toe. He paused just beside you, too close for strangers, and leaned his head down to deliberately sniff at your exposed neck.

You stayed very still and made no fuss, observing the detailing on his doublet and ascot. His heraldry was sewn proudly into the fabrics. He pulled back slowly with a sharp smirk. “It smells delicious.”

With that said, he waved you away dismissively and turned to sit. His brown hair was the last thing you saw before you curtsied again and left with the tray.

Marly was waiting anxiously outside, wringing her hands. She straightened with relief when you closed the door behind you.

“Are you all right?” was the first thing she said. You smiled and nodded, flattered by her concern. “Did he do anything untoward?”

“I’m fine, dove,” you assured her, still smiling, and locked your arm with hers. “Shall we eat?”

She bit her lip hesitantly but allowed you to pull her gently from the building. You would say nothing more on the comte and instead distracted her while you both wolfed down some dinner. You hid your smile, happy to have gotten all the information you needed from your short trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen:  
> An’eth’ara = my place is safe; informal greetings with a promise of safety
> 
> (All Elvhen used here and in the future is with the assistance of [FenxShiral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenxShiral/pseuds/FenxShiral)'s [Project Elvhen](https://archiveofourown.org/series/229061).)
> 
> Orlesian:  
> Je suis désolé = I am sorry
> 
> (All Orlesian used here and in the future, unless different in game canon, is simply French.)


	5. Her Foundation and Her Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Transfigurations 10:2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely happy with this chapter, but it gets the job done.

Marly stood by, laughing as you sang to the children. The tavern was full and busy that early evening, so you had corralled your young audience out of the building and further down the streets of Haven. Half of the patrons had called out a jolly, half-drunk protest at the lack of song, but you’d waved them off with a wink.

Out in the open air, away from grabby hands and breath smelling of ale, Marly had relaxed just as you’d intended. The children were on their best behaviour too, showering compliments on her once she’d been introduced. A particularly cute little girl had refused to let go of her skirts, ripped and stained as they still were, and so Marly kept the girl close and giggled with her while you twirled in the coming moonlight.

Thedas’s two moons kept nights fairly bright, you’d found. The early hours of the evening had just the same visibility as early day, though the lighting was more silver than orange. Marly’s elven skin practically glowed.

It was with reluctance but a practical mindset that you released her to her own duties once the children had been all sent back to their carers. You knew the comte would undoubtably cause more hassle for her if she was detained any longer and you didn’t wish to give him any flimsy excuse to hurt her.

As soon as you’d bid her farewell and she was on her way, you popped back to the tavern. Flissa eyed you closely as you weaved through the crowd, smiling and curtsying to different regulars until you found yourself near a large group of male soldiers and blacksmiths. Obliging to the many requests, you sang a single song, one more raunchy than those you’d given the children, and accepted one mug of foul-tasting mead. Your puckered face led to many chuckles.

“Too much for you, lass?” a soldier with a deep Starkhaven brogue patted you on the back gingerly.

You smiled coyly. “I prefer wine, serrah. ‘Tis much sweeter.”

Another soldier shook his head. “I don’t need to tell you that the only wine here is for nobles.”

“No indeed, good ser. Though some of those nobles clearly take too deep to their cups, I’m sorry to say.” You made your voice fragile and feminine.

The men surrounding you stood straighter immediately, the soldiers’ hands going to empty scabbards and the blacksmiths’ reaching for leftover cutlery, blunt as it was.

“Nobles been giving you trouble, Miss Ollie?” an older blacksmith asked gruffly.

You sighed softly and rose from your seat. “Nothing I cannot handle, messeres. Fear not for me.”

“We don’t doubt your capability, lass,” the Starkhaven solider assured. His name was Sander, if you remembered correctly.

Another blacksmith nodded. “We’d just feel better to know which noble’s taking advantage of your generosity, if that’s the case.”

Inwardly, you smiled at the polite wording. “Oh, I couldn’t say. Truly.”

Beginning to back away from them, you were stopped by a gentle hand on your elbow. The solider who’d put it there stepped away once you turned to him. He was slighter than his comrades and had a soothing voice.

“Please, Lady Ollie. You’d be doing us a disservice to refuse our protection.”

Finding slight humour in his attempt at manipulating you, you conceded hesitantly and were instantly ushered to sit back down amongst the burly men who formed a wall around you. You could just spy Flissa watching from the bar with a frown.

Dutifully, you answered each of their questions, feigning ignorance only when first asked for a name.

“He was Orlesian, a comte,” you added, as if searching for a detail they’d like.

“What did he look like?” a soldier asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You shook your head regretfully. “I couldn’t possibly describe his features; he always wears a mask, but he has brown hair and blue eyes.”

Another soldier jumped in eagerly. “What was his mask like?”

“Oh, cream with blue swirls. It has two points beneath his eyes.” You gestured to the apples of your cheeks.

An older solider rubbed a hand over his bearded jaw. “What about heraldry? Banners?”

“His family symbols?” You paused for a moment. They all waited on baited breaths. “His clothing always incorporates yellow primrose and bluebirds. Does that help?”

The men were quick to assure you that it did, and you told them the location of Comte Louis’s room when encouraged.

With a tremble in your hands, you twisted your fingers into your dress. “And I don’t even receive the worst of it! The poor elves are his true target and I can’t bear how awful he is to them! Perhaps it’s best if I attend to his needs; save them the harsher treatment.”

“No, Miss Ollie,” a blacksmith named Heath disagreed. “No one should have to deal with him. Not you, not those elves neither.”

“But he’s nobility,” you argued. “Someone must, lest our reputation be damned.”

Sander smiled kindly, juxtaposed to his tightening fists. “Don’t worry over it, lass. We’ll straighten him out and we’ll do it all quiet like.”

You knew they would; knew the guard rotation for the nobles’ housing building would be changed last minute, knew the comte would have a rough time coming, and knew Marly’s name would never be tied to any of it.

After leaving the group of righteously angered men behind, you made your way to the laundry rooms and set about grabbing bedding to clean. Your fellow servants nodded a greeting and a few mentioned your lateness in a light tone, but otherwise they left you to scrub the sheets quietly. Once rid of dirt and thoroughly wet, you clipped them up to dry and started on the next load.

You hurried through the process, finishing just when the moons were highest in the sky, and left to find Marly. You couldn’t be sure if she’d already gone to bed, or if the comte had kept her behind. With a dash of optimism, you headed for the servants’ sleeping area which was outside of the gates, near the soldiers’ tents and beyond the blacksmiths’ forge. After disturbing a few servants, you were pointed to the right group and found Marly sound asleep.

You could see no additional bruises or cuts to her person and the handprint had faded entirely on her cheek, though slight swelling remained. With relief, you finally found your way to your bedroll.

You waved silently to Ilene, the only other conscious tentmate in your group. She didn’t return the wave and you didn’t expect her to. Outside your pitiful tent, you heard the back and forth stride of a guard which was unusual. Servants didn’t necessitate any guard rotation specifically. The closest guards, in fact, should be standing at the bridge going across the frozen lake on the path to the destroyed temple.

You peaked a head outside to see a familiar solider, the smaller one with a soft voice, pacing the surrounding area. He caught your eye and nodded to you with a smile and you retreated back to your bedroll without questions.

The promise of justice was sweet on your tongue as you fell into sleep.


	6. A Slave Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Shartan 9:7, Dissonant Verse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving the comments section. You guys are so great :D

You waited patiently over the next few days, stealing Marly away whenever you could and keeping your head down. You had convinced her to lend you the dress that had been damaged, thankful she had a few. After mending and washing it for her, with some advice from other servants on how to properly care for the worn fabric, it was ready to be returned that morning. In the few spare moments you had to eat breakfast, Marly was overwhelmed when you handed it back to her and she promptly burst into tears.

“It looks almost new,” she sniffled, clutching at the dress.

You smiled but stroked her back with worry. “Is it all right?”

“Of course!” She sobbed for a moment, leaning into you, and then collected herself enough to say, “My mamae gave it to me before she and babae passed.”

“Oh, dove,” you said softly and brought her into your arms. She cried out her renewed grief, the dress pressed between you both, and only stopped when her face was red and her eyes had finally dried up.

You were harshly aware that half of the younger people in Haven had lost their parents; some of the children you sang to were looked after by Chantry Sisters for lack of better options, and those of the servants born from servant parents themselves were as close to orphans as one could be otherwise. You had suspected that Marly was alone but had never brought it up. It hurt to see such a lovely young woman so lost.

The two of you were sat on a little bench in the kitchens, hardly a private setting, but the servants in earshot said nothing, keeping their head bowed out of respect. Nanin was the only one to watch and he offered you a sad smile when you looked at him.

You were grateful that the start of Marly’s day could be counterbalanced with good news later: While leaving Haven’s central area to dig more latrines, your gaze was caught by Heath, one of the blacksmiths who’d heard your woes, and he nodded pointedly to you.

Later that evening, as you headed to the Singing Maiden to help with dinner, Marly came rushing up to you with a wide grin. You’d barely seen her since breakfast, and you were quite pleased to receive the hug she bestowed upon you.

“You seem happy,” you smiled as she pulled away.

She nodded excitedly. “The comte is leaving!”

You kept your face neutral. “Oh? What brought that on?”

“No idea,” she shook her head, her grin not budging. “But he’s barely said a word to me for days and I’ve spent hours packing up his belongings. I overheard him telling Lady Josephine that he would be paying tributes to the cause too!”

That was a surprise. You were impressed with the soldiers and blacksmiths for going the extra mile. Not only was Marly’s and therefore your problem taken care of, the Inquisition would also be better off. You were certain there had been a lot of threats involved.

“I suppose with him gone, you’ll be given to another noble then?” you asked lightly.

“Illyrios has assigned me to Lady Batilda of Gwaren,” she nodded. “He said her handlady has fallen ill so I was to take over for the time being. I start tomorrow morning once the comte has been seen off.”

“She’s about your age, isn’t she?” you considered.

“Yes! I haven’t served anyone so young before!” She bit her lip, clearly anxious.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” you smiled, relieved. You’d heard the Lady Batilda was quite withdrawn and that her father constantly pestered her to socialise more, rather than spend her days reading. It was rumoured that he had dragged her along with him to Haven purely to aid in this. Marly would be safe for now.

For your remaining chores that day, you hummed under your breath. Every soldier and blacksmith you recognised from before, you smiled and curtsied to. Sander, the man from Starkhaven, asked if you’d sing in the tavern that evening and you gladly accepted.

Once the children had been shooed away to bed and Marly had left to make sure Comte Louis didn’t require anything further, you sat beside Sander. You recognised some of the men with him and heartily toasted your mug of sweetened cider with them.

“I see you’re in good spirits, Miss Ollie,” a blacksmith noted, his eyes knowing.

You smiled prettily back. “All thanks to you gentlemen, I suppose.”

A tall solider brushed off the compliment, though his cheeks were pink. “Was mainly Andrew that did it.” He gestured to the smaller solider sitting opposite him, the one with the comforting voice who had watched over the servants’ sleeping area the first night.

Andrew inclined his head graciously.

“And how did you manage it?” you inquired.

“’Twas simple, my lady. I happened to cross paths with the comte before and had sufficient compromising knowledge that he felt best to leave quiet.”

“You blackmailed him,” you said in surprise.

His eyes only twinkled.

Smirking slightly, you lent forward, ruffling your skirts. “And what was this compromising knowledge?”

“His lordship won a prize in a jousting tourney years ago,” he told you lightly, as if it was unrelated. His lips twitched. “His lordship is also a very poor jouster.”

“He cheated?”

“Paid a knight to ride with his banner.”

“Well played, serrah,” you smiled at him. “But surely it would have been your word over his?”

Sander barked out a laugh so loud it startled you. “Would have, all right, ‘cept the lad here has family in Orlais higher up than that poncy comte.”

Andrew cleared his throat. “A minor relation to Duke Valere Fontaine,” he explained. “I believe our family trees crossed sometime during the Second Orlesian Occupation of Rainesfere.”

You rose from your seat and curtsied to him. “My lord,” you giggled.

He smirked and waved you off.

All jesting aside, you sat back down. “He won’t cause trouble for servants elsewhere, will he? I would worry for every elf he met.”

The blacksmith Heath shook his head, chuckling. “Oh no, we scared him good and proper. He nearly wet his stockings. Made sure he knew Andrew would keep an ear out no matter where he went.”

“I can only hope he takes it to heart,” you commented. “Well, messeres, thank you for your time.”

You bid them all a good evening as you made your way out of the tavern. You had bedsheets to wash, as usual. Before you made it past the door though, a hand tapped you on your shoulder. You found an elf in heavy armour, maybe 17, watching you intently.

You hid your surprise and smiled welcomingly at him. There weren’t many elves in the soldiers’ ranks; you imagined the small army weren’t all hospitable to their kind and that the sheer strength required to wear the armour alone scared off most elves looking to fight. Indeed, Leliana had a fair few scouts that were elves, where the training was more focused on rogues than warriors.

This boy, a young man really, must have been a hard-worker; that and incredibly stubborn. He didn’t introduce himself, however. All he said was, “Thank you for what you did, from all of us.” With that, he turned and faded into the crowd of patrons.

Somewhat bemused, you stared after him and then, belatedly, realised this would be useful.


	7. Valiant of Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Andraste 1:5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't expect the comte arc to take as long as it did, but I'm glad I took the time to build it up. You guys seemed to enjoy it :)

Your life continued with little interruption. Marly was happy and your network of little people seemed to be growing stronger. While those of influence barely looked at you, tales of Comte Louis had spread amongst the servants and other soldiers. You weren’t sure what had been said exactly, but it was clear the story painted you in a favourable light.

You would pass an elf on the way to bathe and be smiled at with such awe it made you pause. More and more elven children flocked to your side at different times throughout the day, sometimes helping with your chores for lack of things to do. When it came time to entertain them in the evening, Marly was a godsend; she helped you watch over the growing group, though she thus far had refused to sing. While the human children still outnumbered the elves, you would certainly struggle to look after them all alone.

Once, you were washing bedsheets and an elven boy came rushing up to, tugging on your elbow and pleading. He brought you to his mother who’d fallen ill and was unable to leave their shared bedroll. When asked why he’d come to you, he’d said, “The singing lady always helps.” His innocence had almost brought you to tears.

Of course, you had little medical knowledge, but you’d rushed off to the healing tents, bidding the boy to stay with his mother. Adan provided remedies and potions as the apothecary, but his treatment and diagnostic skills were non-existent (as was his bedside manners), so the healing tents got a lot of use. Unfortunately, the Inquisition didn’t have many healers, even less of those with magic, and with a growing army, most of them were nearly always busy with sparring injuries. Thankfully, your quick explanations had one of the mages racing after you.

The woman was fine in the end. She’d acquired a nasty infection, but magic, poultices and bedrest were able to mend her in a few short days. The little boy had thrown himself in your arms and cried when the healer said she’d be all right.

While the added elven attention was flattering, and a voice in your head whispered how helpful it was to your secret cause, you were slightly bemused.

On your way past the training area one day, you stopped by to watch the soldiers spar. You could see Cullen directing a group with shields and almost smiled at the familiarity, but kept yourself far from him. Eventually, your eyes settled on your reason for being here.

The elven soldier who’d thanked you in the tavern over a week ago was slashing his sword at a dummy with immense determination. After observing him for five minutes, he happened to glance up and meet your eyes. Immediately he looked away.

With a smile on your lips, you sauntered over to Andrew, the human noble who’d blackmailed the comte. He was just having a drink when you stood next to him and he tipped his mug to you.

“My lady,” he greeted.

You curtsied teasingly in response. “Fair day, serrah?”

“Not as fair as you, Lady Ollie,” he smirked.

“I have a question for you, Ser Andrew.”

He waved an encouraging hand forward. Leaning against his side with a hand on his armoured shoulder, you surreptitiously pointed out the elf to him. “What’s his name?”

“Ah, that would be Joven. Any reason for your interest? Hope he isn’t giving you grief.”

“Nothing of the sort,” you assured him. Your smile grew wider. “I believe he has taken a fancy to my friend Marly.”

It was true. You’d seen Joven in passing no less than four times since the comte had left; each time his eyes had been on Marly, his expression soft. It was your secondary motive for wanting to know who he was.

“The little elf girl that hangs around you?” Andrew clarified. “Yes, I suppose that would make sense. She’s a pretty girl.”

You hid your displeasure at that. Beauty was useful, you knew, especially here where women were overlooked oftentimes. You were fortunate enough to be considered pretty yourself; it covered up your more devious nature splendidly. Thedas didn’t have quite the progression that your old life had witnessed, where a woman could be clever and witty and important without being attractive, but that was okay. You’d already decided to make changes.

“Is he a good soldier?” you asked, burying your thoughts.

“He’s certainly trying to be. I must admit, he does get picked on by some of the other men, but he always rises to the challenge.”

“You mean they bait him?” Your voice dripped with disdain.

Andrew shrugged. “A little. Mainly it’s just the odd slur. Joven tends to ignore them. He just works harder to prove them wrong.”

You hummed in reply, clearly not happy still.

Sighing, Andrew said, “I’ll try to make the others lay off. It’s difficult with other soldiers – they’re not so willing to back down. I can’t blackmail them all.” The last bit he added wryly, as if amused with you.

You pursed your lips at him. “Does the commander know?”

“The commander? He perhaps doesn’t see the worst of it, but he’s aware not everyone looks kindly on elves. He’s not senseless.”

You knew Cullen wasn’t the kind of man who would stand for such bullying if he truly was aware, and you subtly told Andrew as such.

The solider watched you with narrowed eyes. “I suppose you want me to tell him.”

“I should think Commander Rutherford would take such teasing as time spent not training,” you said convincingly. “I cannot lie and say it wouldn’t please me to have more equality among our troops, just as I cannot say I wouldn’t prefer to have better warriors such as yourself in the ranks.”

With a knowing smile, Andrew bowed shortly and separated from you. It left a slight niggle of worry in your mind that he seemed attuned to your manipulations now, but as he still carried out your goals, you decided to worry about other things instead.

You knew Max was being successful in his venture to the Hinterlands; every day, more and more refugees from the Crossroads showed up. You’d discovered, from their excited gossip and chatter, that the herald was indeed not a mage. You weren’t sure how that made you feel. You loved the idea of magic and were rather saddened to learn you didn’t have any when you arrived here in Thedas.

When the Breach had cracked open, you’d felt a current of electricity run through you and raise the hairs on your body. Watching the sky fill with green had been magnificent, and you’d struggled to contain your excitement amidst the villages crying out with fear. You knew terrible things would come out of that rip in the Veil but seeing such a grand scale of magic had rendered you mute with amazement.

You’d always sided with the mages in the game. In fact, you knew only the basics of what happened if the herald sided with the templars. Knowing Max wasn’t a mage, you feared his own decisions to come. It didn’t sound like he hated magic, from what the few mages joining Haven said, but you couldn’t be sure he’d pick them.

And so, you realised it would be up to you to sway his opinions. While you had no ill will towards templars such as Barris and Lysette, you favoured the plight of those who had been imprisoned all their life because of something they didn’t ask for. However, while you wanted Max to go to Redcliffe and find Dorian, you couldn’t forget the templars either.

Cole, you realised. He could bring the solution you wanted.


	8. Kingdoms Like Jewels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Andraste 1:12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't expect this chapter to go like it did, but sometimes they write themselves, I guess. Sorry about the wait :)

You weren’t sure how to go about contacting a spirit. Asking a mage would be out of the question; they wouldn’t know the answer and they’d likely inform Cullen. You knew Cole listened to hurts and so you decided on a plan. One evening, when many in Haven were either in bed or drunk at the tavern, you waved goodbye to the other laundry servants after washing all the fabrics in your pile and strolled slowly along the streets toward your bedroll.

A guard here and there nodded to you and you nodded back with a smile. Eventually you came to a stretch of road where no one was in sight. You weren’t truly concerned about spying eyes; Cole’s ability to make others forget was very much in the forefront of your mind. You wondered if he’d ever make you forget.

You paused in the road and thought properly about all the templars who would be lost to red lyrium and all the templars who’d rebel and be killed for it anyway. You thought about the lives that would be lost and destroyed by an overwhelming army led by an envy demon and an old Tevinter magister turned darkspawn. You thought about Cole helping a herald that allied with the templars and about a Cole who came to warn of an approaching enemy outside the gates of Haven.

“Anguish and sadness so deep, so real, because now they’re real too.”

You opened your eyes, not realising you’d shut them, and smiled at Cole, a tear sliding down your cheek. He stood with his big floppy hat, peering up at you with confused eyes.

“You know me,” he wondered aloud. “How? But you want to help. You know things, know of Envy. Yes, I’ll help you.”

You watched him work through your thoughts with fondness. When he suddenly paused and nodded hesitantly, you stepped forward and hugged him, feeling his bony body shift, not knowing what to do.

“I’m not a pastry,” he mumbled.

You released him with another smile. “Thank you for listening, Cole.”

“You want to help,” he repeated, his eyes wide. “Not knowing but not unwilling. Change to make the hurts less. Shiny armour and pointed ears, silent but expecting. The wolf doesn’t understand.”

You nodded.

“I won’t tell him,” he decided. “Or the others. One eye open, always there, always watching. Must be kept a secret.”

“Thank you.” You were almost certain he wouldn’t expose your origins, but to hear him say it with such surety made your shoulders relax with relief.

“The red sings to them. The song is wrong.”

“I’m not sure we can help the officers,” you shake your head. “But their charges… I know at least some will refuse the lyrium when they know it’s tainted.”

“Ser Barris will lead them,” Cole echoed my thoughts. “He is a good man.”

“He needs to be told and convince the others, so they can come here. Cullen will take them in without question.”

“A nudge in the right direction, nothing to cause concern. Yes, that might work.”

You agreed, “Exactly, they can’t tip off Envy or the tainted templars. They have to act casual.”

The spirit nodded solemnly and then disappeared without a word. The street felt so empty without him and you realised how wonderful it had felt to be around someone that knew your secret, however brief. With a sigh, you continued down the path to your tent. Comforting or not, no one else could know. Too much hung in the balance. 

* * *

Andrew had done as you requested. Joven’s bullies and all others like them were made aware to the commander. The added benefit to you came as a surprise when you went to dig more latrines and found soldiers already hard at work. Another solider, this one in nearly full armour, stood watching over them with crossed arms and a pleased smile despite the foul smell.

He told you this was the punishment given to those who step out of line, as decided by Commander Cullen just yesterday. Prejudice would not be tolerated.

You left the woods with a smirk, happy to have more time freed in your busy schedule. Though you would no longer be digging latrines, you still left for the servants’ bathhouse, knowing you still smelt of horses from mucking out the stables earlier. You idly contemplated whether that job too would be taken out of your hands when Max came back from the Hinterlands with Dennet and his string of horses. You were hoping he’d bring his own stable hands, or that more would be recruited, otherwise your job would get a lot harder.

With free time suddenly on your hands, you were unsure what to do until three elven children scampered up next to you.

“On dhea’him, da’len,” you greeted the child obviously put forward to speak with you. He was perhaps seven, the two little girls with him nearer six and two. Perhaps they were all siblings, though they shared little resemblance.

The boy smiled and slipped a hand into yours. Your other hand was taken by the older girl and the youngest held onto his free one. And just like that, you had three little shadows for the unforeseeable future.

You all made your way outside of Haven and sat near the frozen lake. You made sure you were seen by the nearby soldiers sparring. A problem out of sight was a problem forgotten and you would not let these soldiers forget the elves. If it helped ferret out those who would go against racial equality, then that was all the better for you and the amount of latrines needed.

You weren’t entirely sure why these children in particular had come up to you, and you didn’t ask. You learned their names (Wilmar, Lucy and Alba), let them lean into your side, you offered them maternal comfort and taught them numbers. Education wasn’t great here, but Wilmar knew all the way up to twenty and picked up the rest easily. He was happy to teach Lucy while Alba huddled against you, giggling at the nugs and fennecs skittering across the lake.

The three of you were there for over an hour and soon more children, another four elves and three humans, had joined you. You knew you should leave to get herbs for Adan soon but were loath to leave the little ones when they were having such fun. It was heart-warming to see the humans treat the elves normally, and soon all guards had been lowered and all ten children were learning times tables or skipping around the snowbanks under your supervision.

It was then that Haven stirred into excitement. The herald and his party had returned after nearly three weeks in the Hinterlands. They returned tired but successful, all four of them sat astride mounts, though Varric looked less than pleased about the whole thing. Max sat with excellent posture, despite the days of travel, and his face flushed when people started cheering for his return.

The whole affair made their dismounting take much longer than needed. In the time it took for most of their audience to disappear, Lucy had left your little group to watch them with adoring eyes. You kept a surreptitious eye on her as she meandered closer to them and realised with a smile that she had her sights set on Solas.

While Max was busy brushing down his horse and Varric was scarpering even quicker than Cassandra, the elven mage turned to a tug on his tunic. You were too far from them to hear anything but the bewilderment on his face made you laugh.

Wilmar looked up at the sound, following your gaze, and scowled adorably. He got up with a huff and stormed over to them. He took hold of Lucy’s hand and pulled, not entirely gently. You heard her cry out in surprise and got up swiftly from the floor, Alba safely on one hip and on the other was Brann, the next youngest child in your group.

You were reluctant to deal with the trickster with such little planning in place, but you couldn’t leave the situation to escalate. Solas noticed your approach just feet away and his face went strangely neutral after a moment of scrutiny.

Wilmar was berating Lucy for wandering off apparently. You were unsure whether his admonishment was due to protective instincts or childish jealousy. Either way, you cleared your throat behind them and he stopped, whirling around.

“We do not grab people, Wilmar,” you told him firmly, clear disapproval in your tone.

He pointed at Lucy who looked down at her bare feet sulkily. “She left without telling us! It’s dangerous to leave the group alone!”

“That’s true,” you agreed, “but does that give you the right to grab her?”

“No,” he mumbled, pouting.

“No. It wasn’t very nice. You could have hurt her, do you understand?”

The little boy gasped and looked at Lucy. “Did I hurt you?”

She shrugged despondently. With her refusing to look at him, Wilmar was aghast.

“You should apologise,” you encouraged softly.

“I’m sorry!” he cried and hugged the girl.

“Sorry!” Alba repeated, giggling.

“That’s right,” you smiled at her and fleetingly pressed your nose to hers.

“I sorry!” Brann flailed on your other side, flinging his arms around your neck.

Solas watched you all silently, his face unreadable.

Lucy finally smiled at Wilmar. “I forgive you. It didn’t really hurt.” Sheepishly, she glanced at you. “I’m sorry for wandering off without telling anyone.”

“It’s all right, da’len. You’ll know for future.” With a coy smile, you asked, “Why did you need to speak with Master Solas?”

She blushed and hid behind her long blonde hair. Wilmar stood up taller and eyed Solas suspiciously.

“She was grateful for my safe return,” the mage himself provided. It was the first time you’d properly heard his voice and it was every bit as tempting as you remembered. Your eyes went to him naturally. He was smiling at Lucy. “It is most kind of you.”

“Ollie!” a little voice called. Two of the human children that you’d left by the lake came rushing over with big grins. One was Brann’s older sister, Lila, and the boy was called Alexander; in his hands was a little nug, likely a baby. He presented it to you, elated. “Look what we found!”

“How wonderful,” you praised them. “Have you been gentle with it?”

They both nodded quickly. “And we’ll be really careful when putting it back,” Lila declared.

You smiled, “Very good.”

Brann reached for his sister and you handed him over to her so he could play with the little creature they’d caught. Wilmar and Lucy soon followed after the other children, the latter sending one last shy look to Solas, and with all but Alba gone, you finally looked at him directly.

He was already observing you, his gaze intense. “Lady Ollie, I believe? I haven’t had the chance to make your acquaintance until now.”

“Just Ollie, Master Solas.”

“Then please, I am no master.”

No, indeed not, you thought but kept quiet, only nodding with a pleasing smile.

“You care for the children?” he enquired politely.

“For the moment,” you said. “They always seem to find me. Normally I just sing for them in the evening.”

Alba had been content to play with your hair, but now her head perked up. “Song!” she demanded cutely.

You laughed and bopped her nose. “Later, little dove.”

“So you’re the one who sings at the tavern,” Solas noted, though his tone sounded too light.

You wondered if he’d sought knowledge of you before. It was likely, now that the elves here seemed to turn to you when in need. Tales of ‘the singing lady’ had made their way around and surely into the ears of Fen’Harel’s agents. You hadn’t expected to amass such a following so quickly and were nearly unprepared to be put under the Dread Wolf’s gaze, but you would adapt.

The little elf on your hip started to squirm until you put her down. Before she could run off, you held her hand and she whined, clearly wanting to go play with others while the adults were being boring.

“I should go,” you told him. He nodded succinctly.

“Yes, of course. Perhaps we’ll talk later.”

With a smile, you left him standing there and walked Alba back over to the lake. She toddled off to sit with Alexander, leaving you watching over the children alone. Yet not a minute later, someone stepped up beside you.

“Max,” you turned with a smile.

He smiled back bashfully. “I saw you talking with Solas but didn’t want to interrupt.”

“How was your trip?”

“Busy,” he sighed. His expression soon cleared, nervousness creeping into his features. “I was wondering if you’d like to sup with me tonight, as we discussed.”

 “Of course, Max, that would be lovely.”

He almost sagged with relief, catching himself and reaching a hand into his jacket. “I kept this.”

In his palm lay a shrivelled purple poppy. Presumably the one you’d given him before he left. Smiling, you put your hand over his lightly. He blushed.

“I appreciate the thought,” you remarked. “But why ever did you keep it? It’s past dead, you silly man.”

He coughed and straightened his back. “I was hoping you’d give me another to replace it.”

Your eyes widened minimally in surprise; for a man so shy, that was rather smooth. You mused whether Varric was involved or if the herald was a romantic. Either could be true.

Smiling more genuinely, you plucked the old poppy from his palm and spun it in your fingers. After a moment, you glanced up at his eager expression and nodded. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen:  
> On dhea’him = good day/good afternoon


	9. A Vision of All Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Andraste 1:10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you're all aware, I've gone back and added translations to chapter 4. So in case you didn't understand anything then, you will now :) I won't be putting translations for commonly known things like "da'len" because that would be repetitive.

Once Max had left to brief his advisors on events in the Hinterlands, you gathered up the children. You told them you were needed elsewhere and asked if they’d like to join you in gathering herbs. Lila said she had chores to do in the Chantry and took her brother with her, thanking you with a little practised curtsy for a lovely afternoon. Janie, a tall eight-year-old elf, gave you the tightest hug she could manage but skipped off back to her father. Alba had grown tired, so Lucy and Wilmar left with her to find their carers, who were apparently all housed together. You were left with Alexander and the last two elves, Shayla and Belraj.

Your merry little band fetched your woven basket and a strip of fabric that Belraj wrapped around himself to form a sling of sorts for extra carrying capacity. The four of you searched the surrounding forests for elfroot as well as a patch of peppermint that a scout had apparently spotted not long ago.

Alexander took great joy in gathering the mint that you eventually found. He would grab some (carefully and under your instruction) and bring it to his nose in delight. The herb was then given to Belraj, the oldest of the three children at 9, who placed it in his sling. The elfroot went into your basket which was soon overfilling, and you gave Shayla, only 4 years old, the very important job of finding the prettiest flower she could.

Once the little ones had been seen back to their chaperones and thanked for their hard work, you gave each of the children one of the blue daisies Shayla had picked out.

Adan hummed in appreciation when you placed your goods down on his workshop counter. You informed him that little hands had helped you pick them today and you spied the barest hint of a smile before he grunted and turned back to his brewing poultice.

With the elfroot and peppermint dealt with, you made your way to the Singing Maiden.

“A gift, fair lady,” you presented Flissa with a blue daisy.

She laughed and fluttered her lashes.

It was time to help with dinner, so you put the rest of your small bundle of flowers aside and set to work beside Nanin who smiled in greeting. He too was given a daisy once the meals were prepared and you gave three to Danford; one for him, one for his wife and one for his newly born daughter.

Marly found you just as you were about to rush off. You kissed her cheek and gave her a flower too and she smiled so prettily, you were dazzled.

“Where are you going?” she asked, so much more at ease than she used to be.

“I have a date,” you grinned and when she seemed confused, you elaborated, “I’m having dinner with the herald. I’m going to change.”

Her face lit up again. “May I help?”

Beaming, you twined your elbow with hers and the two of you set off for your tent. Though the three dresses you wore throughout the week weren’t horrible by your standards (nobles would obviously disagree), you did have one nicer dress hidden away in the satchel by your bedroll, along with your other personal items. You’d seen it on one of the travelling merchants’ stalls and wistfully looked at it for four days before simply deciding to buy it. The cost had depleted most of your savings at the time, but you knew it would be useful one day. Impressions were important after all.

You hadn’t had an occasion to wear it until now. Marly helped you lace up the corset and brushed out your hair. The dress wasn’t extravagant by any means and the boning of the corset was hardly tight or expensive, but you thought you looked rather nice.

Marly sighed, clearly daydreaming, and you laughed.

“Please may I style your hair?” she pleaded and you of course said yes.

She twisted some of your locks into smaller plaits and left the rest to hang down, and while you knew there wasn’t much skill to it, you praised her so heavily she blushed. With moments to spare until the time you and Max had decided on for dinner, you and Marly left for the tavern once again.

The herald was sat at a table with Varric, bouncing his leg nervously. He stood up so quickly his chair nearly fell when he saw you.

“Ollie,” he blinked. “You look… beautiful. As always.”

“Thank you,” you smiled at him. “This is my friend Marly.” The elf curtsied to him.

“A pleasure, my lady,” he bowed in response then grinned somewhat cheekily. “The dwarf in the corner is Varric, if you’ve had the fortune to not cross paths before.”

Marly blushed at the wink Varric sent her.

“Don’t worry, Poppy, I’m won’t interrupt your little rendezvous,” Varric told me cheerfully. You contained your rush of glee at the nickname.

“Poppy?” you repeated.

“I prefer nicknames,” was his only reply as he grinned.

Max cleared his throat, “Um, yes. Why don’t we sit over there?” He gestured towards a table near a stain-glass window and you smiled.

“That sounds lovely. If you’d like to sit, I just need to retrieve something.” With a smile, you and Marly left for the kitchens. You could both hear Varric trying to give Max a pep talk and Marly giggled beside you.

You grabbed the last blue daisy from where you’d put it on the countertop and left Marly with Nanin who offered to keep her company for the evening. You knew the two of them would ‘secretly’ sit and watch you dine with the herald. Nanin was a collector of gossip in some ways, though very good at keeping it to himself. You imagined he’d make a very good spy.

When you made your way back to Max, he was shifting in his seat. He stilled at your presence and smiled timidly.

“Relax,” you laughed and sat beside him. He blinked in surprise and you supposed he thought you’d sit opposite instead. With a coy smile, you outstretched your hand and offered him the daisy you’d hidden away. “Your replacement as promised.”

He grinned so widely it was infectious.

With his red face and a delicate blue daisy tucked into his hand, he looked boyish and charming. You felt a little bad for purposely seducing him, but he certainly enticed genuine endearment, so perhaps that lessened the betrayal. He’d be a hard person to dislike even without ulterior motives.

“How was your trip?” you enquired.

“Long,” he said tiredly, “but fulfilling. We were able to help so many people and this was only the beginning.”

You smiled. “I reckon you’ll change the world someday.”

“Well, I’m not sure about that,” he blushed modestly.

“Trust me,” you grinned. “With an attitude like that, I think the world will have to change: It won’t have a choice otherwise. I admire that about you.” You put a hand on his arm where it rested against the table. He glanced at it with nervous delight.

“Thank you. For my part, I admire your hard work and generous nature.”

“Me?” you blinked, not expecting the compliment to be returned.

“Of course,” he enthused. “You’re busy helping Haven all day long and, even in your spare moments, you care for the children.”

“’Tis hardly difficult. They’re wonderful children.”

“Yes, but you don’t have to look after them.”

You waved it off. Truly you hadn’t foreseen the direction this conversation would go. You’d hoped to discuss his outlook on the mages and templars fighting. His praises weren’t a problem necessarily; you needed him to like and confide in you, but you would prefer to get back onto track nonetheless.

“The citizens here have enough duties throughout the day. They don’t need little ones scurrying about their feet too.” You looked down at your hands forlornly. “Did you see many children in the Hinterlands? I know there’s fighting going on and we’ve had plenty of refugees here, but not many children.”

He hesitated and sighed. “Unfortunately, the fighting has grown quite bad. I know families have made the trek to Redcliffe in search of safety and I’ve turned as many as I met this way, but…”

“It’s not enough,” you whispered.

“No, it’s not. We passed more burial fires than I can say and even more bodies left untended.” He suddenly gripped my hand where it had slipped off his arm. You looked up and he stared into your eyes. “I promise you, things will be made right.”

A small smile crept onto your face. “Of course it will. The herald of Andraste says so.”

His smile was more uncertain than yours. Clearly he wasn’t convinced of his ‘divine nature’.

You sighed. “I wish this war had never happened. I wish there had never been cause for it to happen.”

“Yes. The templars do not deserve what’s happening, but neither did the mages deserve to be locked away and mistreated,” he sighed too and you inwardly cheered. This was the best outlook on the situation that you could have hoped for; an inquisitor not blind to the plight of mages yet not dismissing of the templars.

Hiding your pleasure, you remarked, “I suppose you’ll need either of their help to deal with the Breach. It’s a rather large problem.”

“Indeed. My ‘advisors’,” he smiled wryly at the term, “have suggested an alliance of some form but agree that we must first strengthen the Inquisition’s influence.”

“Undoubtably. Well, it seems you’re doing a fine job of it so far.”

“I hope so,” he said honestly. “I’ve managed to ensure more horses for us, and I’ve spoken with a Revered Mother that didn’t look down on my ‘heretical ways’. She suggests addressing the Chantry in Val Royeaux.”

“A bold move,” you commented.

“Indeed.” After a moment, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. Let me go get us some food.”

You smiled in thanks and watched him get up. His willingness to divulge the advisors’ opinions to you was promising. You glanced around the tavern and found many eyes on you, which was altogether unsurprising when you were seated with the herald. Varric tipped an imaginary hat to you and you grinned, while Marly’s gaze shifted from yours guiltily, though Nanin only smirked and raised a brow.

Maryden, the tavern’s official minstrel, was singing a gentle song near the bar. Soon it would be time for her to have a break while you took over. You wondered how long it would be before Sera was messing about in a corner or Iron Bull and his Chargers were chuckling over ale.

Once Max was back, two plates of food in hand, you both enjoyed a wonderful dinner. You exchanged small talk, shared backgrounds, and recounted nonsensical anecdotes. Despite your vague explanations, he seemed happy to learn more of you. You asked after his family and found that he was the third son of a lord, meaning his life aspirations had been relegated to becoming a Chantry Brother. Despite this, he had pressed for combat training and managed to flourish under a hired trainer.

Upon knowing that, you carefully probed into just how religious he was. It was easier that the herald actually be Andrastian, but you would find it hard to stomach overzealous preaching. He didn’t strike you as the sort, but then, Solas never let on that he was a so-called elven god, so you remained cautious. Thankfully Max wasn’t a fanatic, though he admitted to knowing many verses of the Chant by heart.

When your dinner was eaten and you had obligingly sung some songs to the tavern-dwellers, Max insisted on walking you back to your tent until you informed him you still had chores to do. He went red under the moonlight and bid you a reluctant and very chaste farewell.

Before he turned, you put a gentle hand on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his cheek. If you lingered longer than was really appropriate then you were sure he didn’t mind, though he did stumble as he happily walked away. You didn’t even hide your affectionate amusement, watching him sway in the light breeze.

As you went on your way to wash some laundry, you saw Solas studying you outside his cabin, book in hand. Smiling warmly to him, you waved and turned away, your heart thumping unevenly.


	10. These Emerald Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Andraste 14:11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone have a favourite OC that isn't Ollie? I'm curious, because I've introduced a lot which I don't normally like to do.

You had wondered yesterday why no children had interrupted your date with the herald. Apparently it was because Haven was full of gossips. A couple of servants had seen you speak with Max by the lake and suddenly the entire village knew. It was to be expected, you supposed, now that people knew your face.

As you helped with breakfast in the morning, most of the kitchens’ inhabitants were looking at you and whispering. You didn’t entirely mind; the servants you spoke to the most hadn’t asked any questions. Marly dropped by for Lady Batilda’s food and giggled when you handed it to her, but even she left quickly, despite being curious.

“You like to make waves, don’t you?” Nanin smirked, working beside you. He had enjoyed watching the other servants get into a tizzy about your meal with the herald and you were sure he was hoarding little details about the affair to himself.

“How else can the water flow?” you asked, grinning too.

You suspected, now that you’d spent more time with Max, that Leliana had spies watching you throughout the day. You couldn’t be certain; the spymaster was good at her job, but as she never summoned you for an interrogation, you didn’t worry about it. Your plan was to imitate Solas; be helpful and unassuming and give her no reason to dig further into your ambiguous upbringing.

It would be a little awkward if she found out you’d just appeared out of nowhere in the Arlathan Forest. Solas at least had magic to cover his tracks.

You passed both Varric and Cassandra as you carried out your chores that day, though neither spotted you. You were still avoiding them the best you could.

Belraj, the little elf who’d helped you the day before, found you in the stables and joined you in your cleaning endeavours. You’d been informed that Dennet and his horses were expected to arrive within the next few days. With relief, you’d also been told he had his own stable hands. Yet another slot in your schedule to be freed up. You were sure you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself soon.

Belraj followed you to the servants’ baths after the stables were mucked out and you were both covered in filth. The squat little building was in disrepair and hardly big enough to cram thirty people into. There was an indistinct segregation between the sexes with an implied line to split them going down the middle, but servants had little time to bathe, and so, usually ignored the line in the interest of speed.

The nine-year-old swiftly unclothed himself and this made you certain he had grown up in a Dalish clan; he didn’t shy away from nakedness as the city elves and humans did. The two of you left the baths not long after, both freshly clean.

In the gap of time left by Cullen’s punishments, you had already decided to take the opportunity to read. Accompanied by Belraj, you made your way to the chantry where all of Haven’s books were stored. The elf kept close to you as you entered the large austere building and you didn’t blame him. While the Chantry Sisters here were charged with the care of any orphans not already claimed by civilians, they certainly didn’t always take kindly to elves.

Mother Giselle had not arrived yet, though you were sure she would be here within the week. Not many people were inside the chantry, and it was quiet and eerie. You kept your footsteps soft on the luxurious carpet. With slight frustration, you searched through the bookshelves lining the walls. There was no discernible order that you could spot.

Belraj had admitted he wasn’t very literate, so you eventually settled on a book about animals that had pictures for each entry. Leaving the chantry, you both strolled down the building set aside for housing orphans. Inside there were two Chantry Sisters on this rotation, and both looked somewhat confused by your presence.

“I was wondering if I could read to the children,” you offered.

One of them seemed enthused and showed you to the main room where most of the children played. The orphanage was sadly rather full, and you knew it would only get worse as time went on. Children congregated around you as you sat, with Belraj beside you, and opened the little book.

You spent over an hour in there, reading aloud and showing them the pictures. Several children expressed interest in learning to read themselves and you tucked the thought away for later.

Many times, you would look up and take in all the little faces surrounding you. You catalogued each one and stored the information. You would need to save these children from the avalanche and attack on Haven.

Later that night, you put your head down to sleep on your lumpy bedroll and closed your eyes with a sigh. The heavy weight you’d placed on yourself could be draining but it was worthwhile.

Your dreams were the same as always. Spirits flocked to you in droves, while you wandered and sung songs. You’d discovered you were a bright spark in the Fade, similar to Max and his mark. Luckily the pendant that you kept hidden in the satchel bedside your bedroll managed to steer away most malevolent spirits.

You were sure that, at some point, Solas would infiltrate your dreams and observe you, and you knew that you must appear ordinary when he did, so you rarely spoke to the spirits. They didn’t take it to heart, knowing the insides of your mind, and merely floated on the outskirts of your dreams, watching.

The control you had over the Fade was unlike any other human, particularly for a non-mage. You imagined your origin had something to do with that. In either case, you didn’t want to advertise that you were essentially a somniari, so you did little to change your surroundings. The only time you interfered was when a spirit tried to re-enact any of your former life, or anything that was to come in this one.

In the late afternoon the next day, Mother Giselle came to Haven with a small entourage of Sisters and Inquisition guards. Almost immediately after getting settled, she was ensconced away, making a list of clerics to contact whom might be willing to attend Val Royeaux and hear the herald speak.

You wondered how long it would be before Max and his party left.

In the meantime, you knew you would have to speak to Solas again eventually, though you were more inclined to let him chase you. There was no need to interact with him before his curiosity truly flared up. He was more likely to listen if he was there willingly. You had little idea how to go about dissuading him from burning the world, especially as you refused to reveal that you knew his real identity.

At least things with Max were progressing nicely; he found you at odd intervals throughout the following days, asking after your health and happiness. On one occasion, you were walking through Haven and heard Varric point you out to him. Moments later, Max was beside you.

“What is next on your list?” he inquired. He had learnt that you had many chores to do and would now ask what your current task was. Sometimes he even helped you to complete them, though oftentimes he was called away not long after.

You smiled. “I need to fetch my basket and then I shall be strolling through the forests in search of elfroot.”

“Well, we can never have too much of that,” he laughed, rubbing his neck. “May I join you?”

You dipped your head in acceptance and he tagged along on the way to your tent. As the two of you passed many other little shelters, all as small and haggard as the next, he began to look concerned. You had already left the soldiers’ area of sleeping, where the tents were sturdier and allowed for more room.

When you stopped outside yours, there was snow inside which you shook off your bedroll in a practised motion. Max was aghast.

“This is where you sleep?”

For all that he was lovely, he was also very sheltered. You tried hard not to look offended and supposed you succeeded because, instead of backpedalling, he continued, “How many others share this space?”

“Four.”

“Do five of you even fit in this?” He frowned at the meagre bedrolls all squashed together.

“’Tis not comfortable but it works,” you shrugged. You were pleased he was taking notice of the horrid quarters, though you couldn’t be sure if he would push for better conditions for all the servants. His outrage seemed to be aimed solely for your benefit.

“I’ll speak with Lady Josephine,” he promised.

“What will the Ambassador do? It is Illyrios that oversees the servants.”

You could tell by the look on his face that he’d never heard of the man before and you were unsurprised. “Well Lady Josephine will be able to arrange better tents.”

“For all of us?” you pressed subtly, blinking with innocent big eyes, a joyous smile coming to your lips.

For a moment he faltered but then, as if righteousness was overtaking him, he nodded firmly. “Of course. No one should sleep like this. Certainly not the people who work so hard to make others’ lives comfortable.”

Smiling even wider, you bounced up onto your toes and kissed his cheekbone. He blushed. “Thank you, Max!”

He waved away your gratefulness, his face so wonderfully scarlet, and you grabbed your woven basket. Your walk to the bordering forests was pleasant as you nattered on about your day, mentioning every so often how happy your servant friends would be to have better sleeping arrangements. You explained that not every servant slept outside; the ones who’d lived here long before the conclave had their own little houses within the walls of Haven itself, like Danford and his wife.

As you picked elfroot, Max handed you a little buttercup, blushing as always. The flower was tiny and a little squashed from his fingers, but you grinned and laced it into your hair.

The forests were relatively peaceful. Animals skittered about as you treaded through the long grass, and every now and then other people would walk by, each greeting the herald respectfully.

“We should really start our own gardens,” you noted, glancing at old nubs of elfroot. “The land can’t provide as much as we need now that Haven’s numbers have grown so drastically.”

Max nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I imagine the Inquisition is demanding too much of the natural resources. I’ll mention it in my meeting today.” You smiled and then glanced down hesitantly. Seeing your solemn expression, he turned to you with worry. “What is it, Ollie?”

“I…” Taking a breath, you said slowly, “Some of my friends mentioned that they wished the inquisition had more of an elven presence. I know many elves have now joined the Dalish and are reluctant to work with a religious organisation led by humans, but… perhaps more alliances with Dalish clans would improve the likelihood of other elves joining us here.”

His face was withdrawn as he went over your words in his head and you quickly added, “I know you care little for racial differences and are a kind and just person, so I was hoping you could do me a favour.”

His shoulders straightened at your words and he looked at you seriously. “You needn’t ask, Ollie. What is it that you wish exactly? I’ll make sure it’s done.”

Beaming, you took his hand in yours and watched another blush creep up his neck. You stroked a thumb over his knuckles. “I’ve been told of a Dalish clan in the Free Marches that is open to humans and elves working together. They often trade with towns they travel near and are only hostile when provoked. If you could send an elven diplomat to make contact with them, I’m sure they would be willing to form an alliance.”

“You do not think I should go myself and speak with them?” he speculated, and you shook your head.

“I believe the initial meeting should be carried out by an elf; it could be considered a threat if armed humans march up to their campsite.”

He nodded. “Very well. Who are these Dalish elves?”

“The Lavellan Clan,” you smiled.

Wryly, he smiled too. “Another topic with which to bother the Lady Josephine.”

“Perhaps you should take flowers as an apology,” you suggested, grinning.

He laughed and you helped him to find some pretty pink asters.


	11. Jaws of the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Shartan 9:17, Dissonant Verse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've mentioned this before in the comments, but to reiterate: Ollie doesn't know medicine. I don't really know medicine. I also go by the logic of 'magic changes how medicine/bacteria works', though saying that, I do still conduct a shit ton of research into anything I mention, including medicine. This isn't super relevant by the way, I just wanted to mention it ;)

It had been almost a week since you’d spoken to Cole when he suddenly appeared beside you in the forest. You paused in surprise before smiling.

“Hello, dove.”

“Hello.” His voice was so innocent. Not for the first time, you wanted to squeeze his cheeks. He looked at you strangely. “Will that help?”

You shook your head. “How are the templars?”

“They worry quietly but won’t abandon their cause without more reason.”

You hummed. You knew they were unlikely to leave their corrupted officers behind before witnessing the show Envy would put on in Val Royeaux for the herald. Still, you were sure Cole was helping.

“Ser Barris will speak out,” he said.

“Yes, when Envy commands the templars to withdraw from the city. Perhaps it would be best if you dissuade him from that. To question so openly and then leave would look too suspicious.”

Cole nodded. You knew you wouldn’t be joining Max when he went to Val Royeaux, so you would simply have to trust in the spirit’s abilities.

“There are more spirits here than when I first came,” he mentioned. “They are drawn to you.”

“And Maxwell,” you added but Cole shook his head.

“In dreams he is watched, but no matter the time, spirits press against the Veil to follow you.”

“That’s a tad alarming,” you mumbled. You had noticed there were more spirits in the Fade than when you’d first arrived in Thedas, but you didn’t realise they were so interested in your waking moments too. It shouldn’t shock you, perhaps, but it did.

“The bad ones are kept away,” Cole assured you. “The gem works even now, like they said it would.”

While that helped, you were still bemused. “Why do they watch me?”

“You touch places they can’t and breathe history into being. Nostalgia makes them curious.” That didn’t entirely answer your question, but you let it go. As long as they weren’t malicious, you didn’t mind being followed by spirits. “The Seeker’s shadow is especially devoted to your future,” Cole claimed.

“Cassandra?”

He dipped his head. “Faith clings to her.”

You smiled, “That makes sense.” For all she blundered through things at times, Cassandra’s faith was captivating; of course a spirit of such would attach itself to her. You wondered if it was the same Faith that gave the Seeker her powers, though you knew she wouldn’t remember the ritual or be privy to its details.

“It is,” Cole told you.

A thought came to you then. “Cole, do you think the other spirits would be keen to keep my secrets?”

“You’re concerned by the wolf.”

You hummed wryly. “I know he likes to meddle.”

“They want to help you build a brighter future,” he murmured, lost in thoughts unknown. “Yes, I think they’d do that. Unless it twists their purpose.”

“Brilliant, I’ll have to speak with them soon,” you contemplated. “Do you think they’d watch people for me?”

“Perhaps.” Without another word, he disappeared.

Amused, you smiled. “Bye, dove.” The ghost of a farewell whispered into your ears and you smiled wider.

* * *

You were shaken awake one morning. Ilene and two of your other bunkmates were already up for the day and yet still, a foot lay near your face when you opened your eyes. You sat up, careful not to disturb the other woman, and found little faces peering in at you.

“Why are you up so early, my doves?” you whispered.

The two small elves, both sniffling, crawled into the tent and onto your lap. You wrapped them in your arms.

“Auntie Hilda isn’t well,” Daven whimpered, muffled against your shoulder. He was 5 and very shy. His sister Shayla, the girl who’d picked such pretty blue daisies, only cried. You knew they were both looked after by an older human woman, whose own children had died at a young age.

Worried now, you smoothed a hand over Daven’s hair. “Has she been to a healer?”

“They won’t see her,” he sobbed. “Said she’s too old.”

Suddenly you were furious. You knew the healers here, mage or otherwise, were quite busy and sacrifices had to be made; but to deny a woman treatment simply because she was past her prime? You knew time could be of the essence here and so you quickly wiped a hand over each of the children’s cheeks, wiping away their tears.

“Let’s go see her, shall we?”

They nodded and took your hands. You knew walking around Haven in your shift would invite stares but there was little opportunity to change. Quickly, the children dragged you to the tiny little hut within the village walls, where Hilda lay inside on a wooden bed, sweating and looking pale.

She seemed unaware you even stood in her home and you could have sworn that she was much thinner than the last time you’d seen her. Around her mouth was blood, both dried and fresh as she coughed.

You told the children to stay with her while you fetched a healer. At their dubious expressions, you promised you’d be back soon with help.

You rushed through Haven, hardly contemplating your actions and the consequences they could have. You barely stopped yourself from crashing into the door as you knocked loudly three times. In the moment that you waited for a response, your heart almost beat out of your chest. The door opened quickly.

“Ollie?” He looked at you closely, his eyes scanning over your scandalous attire.

“Please, Solas, I need your help! Come quickly!” Barely giving it a thought, you took his hand and tugged him out of his cabin.

He reacted instantly, his body jolting as his hand squeezed yours, and you would have thought more on this if you weren’t in such a hurry.

“What is it?” he asked as he allowed you to drag him through Haven.

“There’s a sick woman who the healers won’t treat due to her age. Her children just came and fetched me in tears,” you explained between breaths.

Finally you came upon Hilda’s hut and opened the door. Shayla grabbed handfuls of your shift and hugged you.

“Ollie,” she cried. You stroked her hair.

“I know, dove, I’ve brought help.”

“She won’t stop coughing,” Daven whimpered from beside his guardian. You waved him over to you so Solas could take his place. The little boy ran to your side.

The trickster took in his surroundings swiftly and, without a word, went to Hilda. His face like stone, he lifted a hand above her form and it glowed.

Shayla gasped and you hushed her gently. Solas’ ears twitched at the sound.

“How long has she been unwell?” he asked.

“A couple weeks,” Daven said, clearly scared. “But it’s been getting worse. She hasn’t eaten for days!”

“I see,” was the only response Solas gave.

For a while he was silent, his eyes closed as he concentrated on healing her. You had the upmost faith that he could; he was the most powerful mage you knew of, barring perhaps Flemeth. The only question was whether he thought it would be too great a show of his power.

The small cabin was tense as the children continued to cry quietly. You were so immensely glad that they had been given such a loving guardian. Hilda was one of the rare few who cared little for racial differences; a child was a child and she had lost hers before their time.

You’d only spoken with the woman twice before. She was a seamstress and you’d asked her for some advice on fixing Marly’s dress. You’d also once walked Shayla and Daven home after an evening of songs, whereupon she’d thanked you profusely and kissed the children’s cheeks. You’d felt her sincere love for them in that single moment and it had been glorious in a world so full of hate.

As Solas worked, you crouched down to hug Shayla and Daven properly. Your shift brushed the ground and was likely collecting dirt, but you cared little for it.

“It’s all right, doves,” you soothed them tenderly. “Solas is a very talented mage.”

“I want Auntie Hilda,” Shayla sobbed, and you kissed her atop the head.

“I know, da’len. She’ll be wanting you too when she’s better.”

Hesitantly, Daven tugged on your shift. “Can you sing, Ollie? Please?”

You didn’t want to admit that you were a little nervous to sing in front of Solas, even as distracted as he was. Smiling gently at the little elves watching you with big watery eyes, you nodded. You thought of a sweeter song and took a breath.

“ _When your legs don’t work like they used to before, and I can’t sweep you off of your feet…_ ”

You tried not to focus on Solas, instead swaying Shayla and Daven in your arms until their tears dried up. You sang softly, trying not to disturb the healing, and as you finished the song, you realised Hilda had ceased her coughing.

It was a little while longer before her faced relaxed and she slumbered peacefully. Solas opened his eyes and stood with a deep breath. He turned to find the children sat in your lap, one on each leg, as they looked on with pale faces. Their little hands clutched at you as he smiled at them kindly.

“She will be fine after some rest.”

In a burst of energy, Daven flung himself at Solas, making the mage step back with surprise and belatedly pat his back. “Thank you!”

“You are most welcome, da’len.”

“Auntie Hilda is better?” Shayla asked you.

You smiled and bopped her nose. “She is, little dove.”

With a big grin, she jumped up and rushed to her carer’s bed. Daven followed shortly after her. You stood with a slight wince, feeling coming back to your legs in painful waves, but your smile didn’t fade. Solas stepped beside you.

“I would suggest she bathe and eat a large meal when she wakes,” he told the children and Daven nodded furiously.

“Thank you, serrah!”

Solas dipped his head and went towards the door. You followed him until a body crashed into your back. You glanced down to see Daven beaming at you.

“Thank you, Ollie,” he said sweetly.

You put a hand on his head. “Of course, da’len. Be gentle with your auntie.”

He nodded again and let you leave the hut. Outside, Solas waited, his head glowing in the morning sun. He gazed at you with those steely eyes, his hands clasped behind his back, and you fought not to gulp. You certainly hadn’t planned on this.

“Thank you for helping; I realise I was very abrupt earlier. What was wrong with her?” you asked, to buy some time.

“She acquired an illness her body couldn’t fight. I simply provided her with the means to do so and sped up the process. She should not be susceptible again.”

You smiled slowly. “That doesn’t sound very simple.”

His lips twitched. “I believe you called me ‘talented’.”

You flushed and smiled to cover it. “That I did. I wasn’t wrong, clearly.”

He stepped closer to you, his face indiscernible. “I had assumed you were a mage yourself.”

Your shock was genuine. “Why, may I ask?”

His eyes narrowed slightly and there was a moment of quietness. “You have a lovely voice,” he said suddenly. “I shall have to make more appearances at the tavern.”

Deciding to let him change the subject, you smirked coyly. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you at the tavern before.”

“Perhaps you will now.” There was something playful in his expression now and you laughed prettily in response. “I’ve never heard that particular song before.”

“Do you know all the songs in Thedas, serrah?” Your gaze twinkled.

He conceded with a small smile. “I do not.”

“I wrote it myself,” you told him, knowing otherwise he might search for records of it and become suspicious upon finding nothing.

“You are most gifted then,” he praised but it fell heavy on your shoulders. You weren’t pleased to take credit for something you had nothing to do with, even if the alternative to lying was worse.

Rather than saying anything, you curtsied to him. “I should change.”

Immediately his eyes dropped down to your shift again. The hem was stained with dust and grime. You would wash it and wear a different one underneath your dress today.

“That would be wise,” he intoned. “I imagine there will be rumours.”

You waved it off. “There always is.”

He studied you. “Indeed.”

You exchanged goodbyes and parted ways after conferring that it would be best if he didn’t accompany you back to your tent. No need to fuel the rumours, inevitable as they were.

Even as you left, you could feel his gaze boring into you. Your interactions had felt saturated with a weighty undertone of something you couldn’t pinpoint. Your treacherous attraction to him muddled your mind and you tried to ignore it. Even if Solas were to look past the shape of your ears, it would complicate things with Max. For now, it was safer to focus on the herald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist:  
> When your legs don’t work like they used to before, and I can’t sweep you off of your feet = 'Thinking Out Loud' by Ed Sheeran


	12. By Your Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Threnodies 5:1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there anything you guys particularly want me to write? Like something in cannon you want fixing or a certain interaction you want to see? Let me know! When I lack inspiration, I read through all your comments again :)

For days now, another chunk of your schedule had been freed up. Dennet had arrived with his entourage of stable hands and you were no longer needed to clean out the stalls. While the opportunity to bathe longer was lovely, you also had more time on your hands that left you wandering around lost.

Before you came to Thedas, you had been relatively lazy. Your life had been cushy and simple and you’d spent many hours reading rather than doing anything active. After over a year here, you had muscles in places you didn’t realise could be toned and if you had no task to complete, you felt adrift in the world.

You realised now you’d kept yourself busy, both because there was much to do and also because it lessened the heartache of losing your former life. Doing this for so long had made the transition to physical labour all day every day remarkably straightforward but it had seemingly unhinged your ability to just sit and do nothing. For this reason, you spent many hours over the last few weeks reading, either alone or to the children.

You would admit to hiding a little too; Solas had been particularly aware of you since last week when he’d permeated your dreams. Of course he hadn’t seen you do anything strange; your plan to stay under the radar no matter the dream, on the likely chance that he’d spy on you, had still been firmly in place when he took a peek. The only point of interest, you were sure, was the many spirits that watched over you.

In fact, those many spirits had began murmuring ‘wolf’ in Elvhen as a warning under their breaths even before he’d appeared. You had made sure not to show any reaction, continuing to sing as you sat with your legs crossed, looking blankly into the distance. The Fade resembled a quiet lake by some forests in this particular dream and you’d stationed yourself by the waterfront.

You’d thought he might converse with the spirits or even interrogate their intentions, but he simply left after studying the scene from a distance.

Once he’d definitely gone, a few spirits floated closer and told you. You let out a breath and smiled at them thankfully. You hadn’t realised they’d tell you if he was around, but you supposed that made it easier on you. Rather than pretending to be ordinary in the Fade, you could do as you liked, trusting your curious watchers to inform you if he came back.

“I can offer more resistance to his entry,” a spirit offered. It resembled a male though its edges were heavily blurred. It called itself Duty and you had agreed after thanking it.

“That should give us more time to let you know he’s here,” Learning gave the impression of smiling, though as it was merely a shapeless glow tall enough to reach your chest, the gesture was more felt than seen. It had stuck close to you ever since you arrived in Thedas; it was eager to understand more of your former world and, unlike spirits of wisdom, it didn’t care for sharing its knowledge, simply increasing it.

You thanked all of them before approaching the subject that Cole’s last visit had raised in your mind. You’d said very little before Learning agreed with passion; the spirits of course knew your thoughts without your verbalisation.

Learning, Curiosity and Purpose were the most willing (as you had somewhat assumed) to spy on people and report back to you if they found anything interesting. To a lesser extent, other spirits said they’d do the same, and just like that, your network had expanded beyond the Veil.

You had a respite from avoiding Solas when he left with the herald to Val Royeaux. Max had found you just before they’d departed to say his farewells and, as was custom now, you’d given him a flower for the journey and a chaste kiss on the cheek.

While he and his party were gone, Summerday occurred. It was a Thedosian holiday on the first day of Bloomingtide that signified the beginning of summer. Along with couples using the occasion to marry, children soon to turn of age dressed in white and paraded to the nearest chantry to learn about adulthood and all its responsibilities.

You had little clue as to what they actually learned in these lessons, though you hoped it wasn’t just Andrastian preaching. You took great joy though in helping some of the children into their tunics and watching them join the little procession from the doorway of the orphanage. Belraj, not old enough to accompany them, stood beside you with his head tilted in confusion.

“How do they know they’re about to become adults?” he asked you.

“They will be turning thirteen soon, which is the age of adulthood here.” It was the same for Ferelden and Orlais, which was useful seeing as Haven bordered both, and its inhabitants were a good mix between them. You found it somewhat sickening but knew it mirrored past centuries in your former world.

“But they haven’t proven themselves,” Belraj protested.

With a smile, you turned to him. “Is that how the Dalish become adults? They must prove themselves first and then gain their vallaslin?”

He nodded fiercely. “Being an adult means you provide for the clan.”

“’Tis a noble concept,” you mused. “Which vallaslin did you hope for?”

“Doesn’t matter now,” he said, a little sadly, and you supposed he was right. It was probably for the best that he wouldn’t receive one regardless, though it reminded you to ask the spirits if they could teach you more fluent Elvhen.

“Want to help me find elfroot?” you offered, hoping to distract Belraj from his gloomy thoughts. He hesitated before nodding and taking your outstretched hand, smiling just a little.

Marly found the two of you on your way to the apothecary, basket full of herbs in your arm. You greeted her with a big grin and a side hug, pleased to see her looking so upbeat. She had been busy of late. Apparently Lady Batilda had warmed to her and decided to have Marly with her all day long, so she was present at every etiquette lesson, every afternoon tea and every other spare moment the young noble had. You were glad they were getting along, though you admitted you missed your friend.

As you all walked past the training grounds, Marly’s ears blushed red and she smiled uncontrollably. You glanced around, only to see Joven smiling at his sword nearby. You’d never seen the lad show such open happiness. It made you smirk to yourself and nudge Marly.

“Has Joven approached you perchance?”

She bit her lip, but it didn’t contain her smile. Nodding, she rushed into the story of how he’d complimented her the other day and altogether charmed her. Belraj made a disgusted grunting noise on your other side as she gushed, and you sent him an amused though reproachful look. You didn’t want her mood spoiled. Joyful days such as this were hard to come by; and days to come would be even worse.

* * *

Your time in the Fade had become rather relaxing now that you could rely on the spirits around you. You spent many nights wandering and viewing long forgotten memories of Haven and its neighbouring areas.

You had refrained from going near where the old temple used to be, mainly out of fear that too many painful deaths would overwhelm all other memories. The explosion that Corypheus caused had been horrific for all that the magic involved fascinated you.

You hadn’t realised you’d meandered so close when your surroundings began to merge into a snowy mountain ledge.

“Keep moving,” a voice called through blistering winds. “The legend says the tomb sits atop this peak.”

You turned to see four cloaked figures trudging through the heavy white blanket.

“Lovely. We can freeze to death while digging for the bones of a madwoman,” another snarked.

You smiled, recognising Morrigan’s sharp voice. This must be the warden, you realised, looking at the first figure. They were female and the long glint of silver between the folds of their cloak suggested a warrior. Cousland, you contemplated. You hadn’t had time to investigate the world state, too focused on the events of Inquisition.

You had assumed that once you knew who the herald was, you would know which warden and which Hawke had taken precedent, but that plan had clearly gone awry. You knew from snippets of Varric’s conversations that Hawke was at least male, but the warden had remained a mystery until now.

You followed their path, bypassing other memories, suddenly very intrigued as to what decision Cousland made at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. You saw, as the Guardian quizzed her, that a young Leliana, Morrigan and Sten had accompanied the human noble. As they all went through the Gauntlet, you noticed the expression on Leliana’s face and the gestures shared with Cousland (Elissa, you’d found out). Clearly they’d fallen for each other.

When they arrived at the ashes, you watched as a pinch was taken for Eamon and then they left, leaving the ashes untouched.

“They weren’t defiled,” you mused aloud. You glanced ahead at the statue of Andraste, wondering if it truly looked like her at all. “What really makes people follow you so blindly?”

“She strived for justice,” a spirit floated up beside you. It was Curiosity; it portrayed itself as a small elven boy with a mischievous smile. “She went to great lengths to protect her people.”

You chuckled. “Sounds like Mythal.”

Curiosity smiled even wider. “It’s not a coincidence.”

Frowning, you studied the spirit. “What do you mean?”

“Like calls to like,” another voice joined us. With a head of long flowing hair and otherwise full armour, the female warrior visage was powerful. The spirit inclined its head. “I am Justice.”

You briefly remembered the distorted spirit of Justice living in Anders’ body and decided you preferred this spirit.

“You’re not saying Andraste was Mythal reborn?” you probed.

Justice smiled. “Andraste was Mythal’s intentions reborn.”

Spirits could be frustratingly vague at times. You sighed. “That doesn’t really help me.”

“Mythal was spirit-bound and required a host to act outside of the Fade,” Curiosity told you. “She heard Andraste’s anguish and answered her.”

You couldn’t contain your shock. “Andraste was the host of Mythal’s spirit? Like Flemeth is now?”

Rather than confirming or denying that bombshell, Justice said very seriously, “Injustice cannot be fought without being protested and people cannot protest without a voice. Silent are the oppressed, for they know little more than the injustices shown.”

You were quiet for a moment. You weren’t entirely sure you agreed with that, but you could understand the spirit’s meaning. “I’m their voice, just as Andraste and Mythal was.”

Justice inclined its head.

Your eyes narrowed. “I’d rather not be betrayed and executed.”

Curiosity giggled.

“I will help you,” Justice said, as if only just deciding. “The wolf seeks to resolve himself of guilt; he has lost his way and cares little for those he wishes to ‘save’. You can change his mind.”

“Can I now?” you raised your bows.

“He’s intrigued by you,” Curiosity said. “His thoughts linger on your touch.”

Your heart thudded. Surprise and pleasure warred within you. “So he _can_ like humans.”

“It is more that you carry the Fade with you,” Justice imparted, though its lips twitched with amusement. “He can sense it, just as we can; the Fade lingers about you like a breeze of times long gone. Your touch magnifies the sensations. When you took his hand, he could feel your consuming worry for the ill woman as well as your profound belief that he could help her.”

Suddenly concerned, you straightened. “Are you saying that if I touch him, he can read my mind like you can?”

“No, no, silly,” Curiosity wagged a finger at you. “The Fade that you carry with you in the Waking World is how it used to be before the Veil was formed.”

“It transmits a sense of your feelings,” Justice added. “Even in the time of Elvhenan, only the Evanuris or those particularly gifted were privy to it.”

“That’s why he thought I had magic,” you guessed. “I suppose I should continue avoiding him for now.”

Justice hummed noncommittally. “You are already on a path of justice; take care not to stray when your burdens prove tempting.”

At that last piece of advice, the landscape and spirits before you bled away like watercolour on a canvas as you woke up.


	13. Towers All Stain'd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Andraste 1:11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed already and I've already mentioned it on my Tumblr; this story has chapter titles now. Each one is taken from the Chant of Light with the relevant citation in each chapter summary in case you're curious. Hope you like them!

It felt like you had been here decades already when Max and his party finally returned from Val Royeaux. While you were satisfied with the progress you’d made in your time here, you were excited for the opportunities creeping closer. The Chantry officially denouncing the Inquisition was only the beginning.

Max had barely dismounted before he was shuffled along into a debriefing with his advisors. You made sure to keep away from Solas, hurrying to your next chore. Cole had visited you last night to say that Barris and a few other templars were considering leaving the Order and, with that plan moving steadily forward, you were eager to make sure the mages would be approached soon.

For a while, you had considered how to help Felix, knowing the Blight would kill him eventually. It was only now, being able to converse with the spirits in your dreams without worry, that you had some idea of what to do. You had asked your spirit friends if they knew the ritual to becoming a Grey Warden and just how the taint decided if you were ‘worthy’ or not.

“It is not the taint that decides,” Duty disproved. “The Blight is a sickness that spreads without thought; it consumes and infects sentient beings but is nothing more than a parasite itself.”

Learning nodded. “A warden will only survive the ritual if a spirit touches them. We can stem the sickness enough that it will not overwhelm them. It is our choice.”

“And the whim of spirits is fickle at best,” you mused, smiling at the funny face Curiosity pulled.

“It will still kill them eventually,” Justice pointed out and you sighed.

“There must be a cure. Fiona no longer carries the taint within her.”

“I shall look into it,” Learning announced, and you thanked it.

Your brainstorming had at least left you with knowledge of what exactly a Grey Warden recruit drank at their ritual; a specific ratio of darkspawn blood, deep mushrooms, prophet’s laurel, felicidus aria and crystal grace combined with magic. Knowing how rare most of these ingredients were, you were hardly surprised that Thedas had few Grey Wardens.

You weren’t sure if this would be helpful to you, but you were willing to research all possible cures for Felix and everyone else with Blight sickness.

Meanwhile you had been preparing for the future avalanche. You’d gathered plenty of materials for when the herald fell and was presumed dead, but your real worry was the children. Every time you visited the orphanage, your heart clenched at the thought that some of the little faces peering up at you wouldn’t make it.

Justice had told you the location of the passage from which Haven’s inhabitants would flee. You had managed to procure a few blankets here and there, feeling guilty for depriving people of warmth now, but knowing it would be necessary later. You couldn’t simply steal all the blankets and rations and hoard them; Leliana would most assuredly notice and you’d be interrogated. You contented yourself with collecting supplies slowly and stowing them away in the hidden passage so that they looked abandoned and old and unsuspicious for when the time came.

You had been caught by Mother Giselle on one such trip; she’d questioned your presence in the chantry just as you’d been about to leave. Luckily you were known by the Chantry Sisters to come in for books and, after a small discussion on the virtue of reading, you were able to escape. You’d had to enlist the help of Curiosity from then on; the mischievous little spirit boy promised with glee to whisper in Mother Giselle’s ear and steer her away, as well as any other nosy chantry-goer.

It was outside the chantry that you first saw Krem and almost tripped over your own skirts. Seeing some of your favourite characters in person would never cease to amaze you. As was his cue, he was trying to flag down anyone possible to describe his sales pitch for the Chargers and failing immeasurably as the busy people of Haven continued to scuttle by without a single glance.

Even knowing Max would likely leave the War Room soon and speak with him, you felt like throwing him a bone when he sighed, exasperated with the snooty nobleman who had so rudely pushed against him to get past.

“Tevinter, right?” you asked in commiseration, offering him a sweet smile when he turned warily.

“What of it?”

“I imagine that’s why you’re having trouble talking to anyone,” you explained, shrugging.

His voice, deepened as it was, didn’t cover the accent that gently rolled from every consonant. You could barely hear it in all honesty, but from what you understood, it was very noticeable to everyone else; you imagined it was due to the heavy stigma attached to Tevinter and thus the need to separate oneself from all things in relation. It was silly prejudice of course, as was common for Thedas. Krem, Felix and Dorian were all wonderful people regardless of their nationality.

Krem sighed again and rubbed the back of his neck. “Thought they’d have bigger things to worry about.”

“Not even a hole in the sky can make people less stupid, I’m afraid,” you winked and he laughed. “Can I help you at all?”

“Maybe. I’m here on behalf of the Bull’s Chargers. We’re a mercenary group under the Iron Bull’s leadership and he was hoping to offer his services now that things have turned upside down.”

You nodded, “I’m sure there’s something I can do.”

As if he’d been waiting for a prompt, Max strolled out from the chantry with tired eyes. He spotted you immediately and burst into a smile.

“Ollie,” he greeted you with a kiss on your hand. You curtsied pleasingly in response and gestured to Krem.

“This man was hoping to speak with you, Max. He’s part of a mercenary company called the Bull’s Chargers.”

“Cremisius Aclassi. My boss extends an invitation for you to see us in action down on the Storm Coast,” Krem explained with a firm nod of respect. “We would be willing to serve the Inquisition for the right price, if you’re agreeable.”

“I shall certainly keep that in mind,” Max inclined his head.

“Then perhaps I’ll see you there. Thank you for your help, my lady,” Krem bowed to you and you grinned.

“Do you have to rush back off so soon? Surely you need a night’s rest.”

“Best not to dally,” he waved you off kindly. “Thanks for your time.”

With you and Max alone, you turned to him and kissed his cheek. “How was Val Royeaux?”

“Eventful,” he shook his head and then offered you his arm. “Would you like to take a walk?”

“Gladly.” You slipped a hand onto his elbow and listened as he recounted his time away. You noticed there was no mention of a templar speaking out, though Max remarked that some had looked uneasy.

You provided all the correct reactions, being the ever-attentive audience as he led you around Haven. Eventually, just as you learned that Vivienne would be arriving within a week and Sera within two, he stopped you outside of his cabin.

You raised your brows at him and he blushed oh so delightfully. “I brought something back for you.”

“I didn’t realise you had time to shop,” you commented, truly surprised. He shrugged it off and opened the door for you, beckoning you ahead of him.

His little cabin was cosy and warm, and a thoughtful servant had stoked a fire for him and left a plate of food on his table. He bid you to sit while he rummaged through his pack, the bag still full of his travel necessities.

You had never visited him here before and you admitted to being jealous of the privacy that four walls and a lockable door provided. Shaking the thought away, you smiled as he held out your gift. It was clearly some sort of book, you knew, holding the square weight in your hands. It had been wrapped with a piece of hessian and tied with string.

The cover was blank but lined with a soft fabric and, when you flipped through the pages, you found that the inside was blank too.

“I thought you might like having somewhere to write down your songs,” he told you, his face thoroughly pink.

You smiled, your stomach feeling as warm as his cabin, and put the book down gently to kiss his cheek again, slower this time. “Thank you, Max. It’s wonderful.”

Not long after, a servant knocked on his door with the offer of a filled bathtub and you left him to it, cradling your new journal and a new inkwell in your other hand.

He had stuttered a little when you reminded him how very few people could afford ink and had graciously given you his own. You knew you had an old quill pen in the pack you kept in your tent. You also knew you’d have to find parchment to practise writing with it again. You’d given up early on in your last attempts and you didn’t want to ruin your lovely journal with ink splotches.

Though Max had given it to you for musical purposes, you had so many little things to remember that you decided to use it instead for notes. You knew it would be evidence against your proposed ignorance and innocence in the future, but with no one rifling through your things anytime soon, you decided its advantages currently outweighed the danger.

With the two gifts safe in your tent, you went back to your chores. There was barely time to stop, but you managed to ask Nanin if he knew where you could find some spare parchment. Of course, parchment and vellum were expensive and generally its use was reserved for nobles or those employed whose career demanded it. You didn’t have the money to pay for it and this was why you’d asked Nanin.

“I heard that Illyrios threw away some poorly scribed documents earlier today,” he said casually. “Threw quite a fit about wasting it too. There’s likely some remaining fragments in his fireplace.”

You smiled. “Ma serannas, falon.”

Later that day you waited for Illyrios, the man managing most of Haven’s servants, to leave his quarters upon a suspiciously loud altercation not too far away. You endeavoured to once again thank the servants who’d agreed to quarrel and draw him away, and quickly entered his room.

Just as Nanin said, there were pieces of parchment in the cold fireplace, carelessly tossed outside of any flame’s range. You pilfered them and left the quarters as silently as you’d entered. You would use these scraps to practise your handwriting first.

That evening, when your tentmates had fallen asleep, you jotted down your first entry in the journal.

_DEEP MUSHROOMS grow in caves and underground, often near darkspawn in Deep Roads and commonly carries taint within it. Though sickness does not spread further, can make the fungi extremely poisonous with symptoms of nausea, severe stomach cramps, insanity and death when consumed._

_CRYSTAL GRACE tends to grow near bottom of tree trunks in forested regions though can climb in height. Used in certain medicines and tonics for its healing properties but has delicate balance of use and is easily compromised if handled incorrectly. More famous for its pleasing appearance._

_FELICIDUS ARIA is only flower able to grow within Blighted lands. Petals smell of roses and are commonly used for cosmetical items. Roots can be distilled into ambrosia while leaves are often used as baseline ingredient for many mixtures, particularly grenades._

_PROPHET’S LAUREL grows in plains with high access to water sources and has healing properties. Berries can be crushed and mixed into many tinctures, including health poultices. Leaves are often steamed or boiled or sometimes ground with pestle and mortar for different strengths. Has been given strong Andrastian symbolism._

You briefly checked over the writing, pleased with your penmanship even if it was a little childlike. This was hardly incriminating information but still useful; you were unlikely to remember every little detail and the spirits had been so helpful in providing the Grey Warden ritual potion. You hoped it could be used in the future.

For now, you left the book open for the ink to dry and looked out at the two moons. They were tinged with green from the Breach and you smiled, knowing it would be closed soon enough.


	14. Of Ten Thousand Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Shartan 9:16, Dissonant Verse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter was very difficult to write and a little rushed because I felt bad that it's taken so long, so apologies if it's a little off.) Should I do more journal entries? I'm not sure if they'll all be plot-relevant. I just kinda want to share some of the knowledge Ollie has gathered.

Flissa called you over before you could slip into the kitchens. She looked somewhat exhausted and you wondered when she’d get another bartender to share duties, but regardless, her face shone with excitement. You approached her with a smile and blinked in shock when she pulled out an instrument not unlike a guitar.

“You said you played a string instrument when we met,” she grinned at your awe. “I guessed it was the cittern and, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I was right.”

Of course she was only somewhat right, and you knew you’d have to practise with this ‘cittern’, but the fact that she’d remembered a throwaway comment from months ago astounded you.

“How expensive was this?” you exclaimed. She shrugged the question off, her flushed cheeks betraying her. “Fliss! I can’t accept this,” you argued.

“You will because I want to hear ya play it.”

“I haven’t played in years,” you tried to protest.

She smirked. “Best pick it back up quickly then. Plus, don’t feel too bad. I also got Maryden a lute. If I have to be here hours every day then I’d rather have good music.”

For a moment, you considered that Flissa worked for Leliana and that she probably was paid more wages than a regular barmaid. It was only this thought that made you kiss her on the cheek soundly and beam without further dispute.

After your tenth thank you, she shooed you into the tavern kitchens to help with breakfast and you practically floated into the room. Nanin gave you a look as you placed your new cittern reverently on a side bench.

“Friends in high places?” he teased.

“Friends everywhere,” you winked.

The instrument gave you inspiration for your hours with the children today. As you washed dishes and cutlery, you needled and probed Nanin until you knew where to acquire the materials you needed. Once breakfast was finished and you’d waved goodbye to Nanin, remembering to blow Flissa another kiss too, you collected the children from the orphanage and set about on your project.

A while later, the little ones had, with your help, made three little shakers. They took great joy from waving them about and the sounds made more than a few soldiers glance over from their training. Cullen quickly got them focused once again, sending you glances himself which you expertly avoided.

You took the opportunity to practise with your cittern. At the first few notes, the children gasped in pleasure and danced around you, shaking along. You smiled, finding the instrument quite familiar.

Marly soon found you by the lake, the children slowly tiring from rushing about. She smiled at their drooping eyes and allowed Alba, the cute two-year old elf, to cuddle sleepily into her lap as she sat beside you.

“You’re very talented, Ollie,” your friend sighed. You thanked her but could see that she wasn’t finished. “I wish I could sing and play an instrument.”

“I’m sure you could learn if you would agree to sing out loud,” you smiled.

Her ears turned red. “I couldn’t. I’m awful.” Suddenly her eyes teared up and she sniffled. Alarmed, you put your cittern down on the floor.

“What’s the matter, dove?”

“I will make such a terrible wife,” she cried, quietly so as not to disturb Alba, and you had to bite your lip. That wasn’t what you’d been expecting at all.

“You’ll make a wonderful wife,” you comforted her and took her hand. Hesitantly, you peeked over at Joven where he was parrying with another soldier. “Has an offer been made for you?”

“No, no, Maker forbid!” You let her settle herself, her tears slowing, and she readjusted Alba against her chest. After a sigh, she murmured, “Lady Batilda received a marriage proposal today.”

You hummed in response.

“She’s a year younger than me and I know she’s prettier and richer, but she doesn’t at all wish for marriage. She broke a teacup when her father blessed the union.”

“Joven is very lucky to be courting you,” you told her firmly. “You will make a superb wife, regardless of wealth, because you are kind and thoughtful, and yes, you are talented.”

You could see she was close to tears again, but she bravely held them back. “Thank you for being my friend, Ollie.”

“’Tis hardly difficult,” you assured her. “Now, sing me a song.”

“What?” she exclaimed and shook her head furiously.

“You wanted to learn,” you grinned.

“Please no,” she giggled. With her mood lifted, you both enjoyed your free time together. Inwardly, you contemplated when Lady Batilda would leave Haven. If her father wished her to marry and she’d received an offer, regardless of her disinclination, then she likely wouldn’t stay much longer. You would have to make sure Marly wasn’t given to another abusive noble once that happened.

Glancing at the lovely present that poor overworked Flissa had given you, you smiled and tucked the idea away.

* * *

You were learning more complex Elvhen from Purpose when Cole suddenly appeared between you. He admittedly startled you, but Purpose merely gave him a baleful stare for the interruption.

“The templars have made their move,” he said, ignoring the other spirit.

Your brows raised. “Which templars exactly?”

“Barris and those loyal to him. Excuses have been made and now they journey to Haven.”

“When can we expect them?”

“Soon,” was all he told you before disappearing again.

Purpose gave a loud ‘humph’ and you dedicated the rest of your dream to appeasing her disgruntlement by playing the perfect student. Your joy was pushed down and ignored for now. When you eventually awoke, it was with a smile.

You spent your day trying to subtly tell Max he needed to approach the mages soon. You knew that if the disobedient templars arrived at Haven and Envy found out, all chances of helping the mages would be lost. Luckily, Max mentioned he’d be leaving for the Storm Coast the next day and that they’d likely go to Redcliffe after.

“Oh, we’ve sent a scout to meet with the Lavellan clan,” he commented, and you smiled at him gratefully. “An elven scout,” he added. “Leliana was in agreement that it would be best.”

Your heart stopped. “Did you mention me?” you wondered, honestly scared. He must have heard it in your voice because he now looked concerned and took your hand gently.

“I did not. Why would that worry you?”

You briefly glanced around for eavesdroppers. You were both in the tavern, sharing a quick meal before you would sing for the patrons. Lowering your voice and (with very minimal effort) appearing terrified, you whispered to him, “Sister Leliana frightens me.”

His lips quirked but he didn’t laugh. “She is quite intimidating. Fear not, Ollie, I shan’t mention your name to her.”

“Thank you, Max,” you kissed his cheek. With your meal finished and the herald still blushing in his seat, you made your way to Maryden and touched her arm. She smiled at you and went to sit, happy for the break.

When you saw some little ones waiting for you to sing, you decided to use the little shakers that you’d made with their help just the other morning and held it up in their direction. The children cheered and some of the adults laughed at their excitement.

It would do nicely for the song you had in mind. You picked up your new cittern once some of the older children were given the shakers and had been taught the rhythm you needed. As they started to shake them and you tapped the floor with your foot, you surveyed the tavern and spotted Solas by the door. Trying not to let his presence rattle you, and instead focusing on Max and the little ones, you began to sing, “My life, my life was black and white and I believed it, I believed it…”

The patrons slowly started clapping along at times and the children danced in front of you, shaking imaginary shakers if they had none. Luckily, no one in the tavern knew when you messed up some of the notes and you were able to smile away your clumsiness. Clearly, you needed to practise more. At the end of the song, the tavern erupted with applause and you beamed at everyone.

Slyly, you watched Solas take a seat right by the exit and knew he would try to corner you on your way out of the door later. You sighed but put a smile on your face and sang another song, putting the cittern away.

When you exhausted yourself by dancing along with the children after a couple more songs, Maryden took over again and you made your way to Max. The gaggle of children followed you and it warmed your heart when he immediately scooped a little elf girl up onto his lap. She giggled happily as he bounced her on his knee.

“You were wonderful,” he grinned at you as you flopped into your chair beside him.

You thanked him and waved Marly over when you saw her hovering. She was still a little shy around Max. With a smile, she settled down next to you and handed you some sweet cider.

“We should probably get the little doves home,” you said, as the children amused themselves by running around your table.

“I can help if you’d like,” Max suggested. You immediately jumped on the idea; sure that, with his company, Solas wouldn’t be able to interrogate you. The mage had been studied you avidly when not glancing with disgust at the rowdy soldiers seated beside him.

You were right too; when he saw your whole group stand and move to leave, he swiftly got up and was out the door before you had even waved goodnight to Flissa.

You knew he would likely try again another day and held in a sigh. Once the children had all been walked home, Marly left for her duties. You and Max headed to your next chore, but when the servants tittered at the sight of him, he excused himself with a polite bow. You fielded off gossip about the herald until you were able to leave for bed.

Your tentmates were already sound asleep, bar one missing woman. As you quietly fumbled with your journal, the scrap of parchment you’d tucked into its pages fluttered to the floor. You grabbed it before the wind could and shuffled out of the way as your last tentmate crept under the flimsy shelter.

Your eyes caught on the writing that Illyrios had made someone scribe as you flattened the parchment once again, and then on the words your eyes stayed as their meaning dawned on you.

You could see some misspelt words and knew they were why the esteemed Master Illyrios had deemed them unfit, but you were more preoccupied with the context.

_ 4 and younger _

_\- 9 humans, 3f and 6m  
_ _\- 5 elves, 2f and 3m_

_ 5 to 12 years old _

_\- 27 humans, 12f and 15m  
_ _\- 19 elves, 10f and 9m_

_ 13 and older _

_\- 32 humans, 18f and 13m  
_ _\- 56 elves, 34f and 22m_

You hadn’t bothered to read the half-burnt document before but now your nose was practically pressed against it. Why was Illyrios noting these things down? From what you could tell, most of the first category matched up to the children in the orphanage; the other two were harder to tell.

With a troubled heart, you forced yourself to put the parchment back between pages of your journal and stow it away. When you eventually managed to fall asleep, the first thing you did in the Fade was ask the spirits about Illyrios.

“He’s very twitchy,” Curiosity piped up. “He pulls funny faces too.”

“What kind of faces?”

The spirit child scrunched up his own face to demonstrate, but it didn’t really help you understand.

Justice’s soft feminine expression turned hard as you discussed the parchment. “I will watch him,” she promised, clearly as uneasy as you. The whole topic left a sour taste in your mouth.

Purpose was quick to distract you with more Elvhen. You consciously changed your surroundings to resemble a playground to entertain Curiosity while you recited the phrases you remembered from last time. You had been making some progress with the language. It was reasonably complex and more subjective than you’d like, but you’d always been good with linguistics.

You were later joined by Learning and a pinkish blur of light known as Joy. The latter spirit played exuberantly with Curiosity and distracted you from your lessons with Purpose so much that she sighed and shooed you towards them. Learning was fascinated by your cartwheels and handstands and demanded to join in.

By the time you felt your body waking up, your worries had been thoroughly banished from your mind.

“Ma serannas, araniin,” you thanked the spirits surrounding you. Purpose winced and corrected your pronunciation but even that didn’t dim your smile.

You were extraordinarily happy to name them friends, if a little startled to realise you’d gained so many in this strange impossible world. Timidly, you hoped to acquaint yourself with even more friendly faces in the time to come. Saving the world seemed a lot easier when you weren’t alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen:  
> Araniin = my familiar friends/acquaintances/colleagues; informal
> 
> Playlist:  
> My life, my life was black and white and I believed it, I believed it = 'Kaleidoscope' by A Great Big World


	15. Sculptor and Clay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canticle of Trials 1:8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a rough outline for this chapter and it really went off course, so I guess those plotlines will be picked up in the next one. Hopefully you guys still like this anyway :)

Max, along with his party, had set off for the Storm Coast only three days before Vivienne arrived in all her splendour. You had been attempting to snoop around Illyrios when he called you and several other servants to help the Madame de Fer with her luggage and get her settled in. The room she’d been given in the chantry was laden with rich cloths and new furs, far more decadent than the other companions’ chambers, but Vivienne scathingly remarked of how cold and drab it was.

You kept your head down as you unloaded her piles of clothing into the wardrobes, rolling your eyes subtly as you heard Illyrios rush to order more rugs and cushions. The man was practically frothing to please her. He was dismissed quickly, his gibbering having clearly annoyed Vivienne, and she turned to survey the servants in her room. You thought you’d been caught looking after Illyrios too intently when she snapped her fingers and pointed at you.

“Turn, my dear,” she commanded.

You put the hat box in your hands back down and slowly swivelled on the spot until she seemed pleased.

“You look to be of good breed,” she decided. “Do you know your letters?”

“Yes, my lady,” you curtsied gracefully.

“And good form too,” she approved. After scrutinising you one last time, she remarked, “You will be ready if I call on you, my dear. I have my own servants, but they know little of this… delightful little village.”

“Of course, my lady,” you smiled pleasantly. You didn’t allow your panic to show. Luckily she dismissed you and the others not long after, requesting your name before you slipped through the door. You could only hope she didn’t call on you too often; you’d worked hard to avoid the inner circle, lest your oddness show.

For now, you focused on Illyrios and his possibly ill intentions. You weren’t sure where he’d disappeared off to. Hoping he wasn’t in his office, you made your way there. You knew it would be strange to turn up unannounced if he was indeed inside, so when you passed some other servants, you kindly asked for the broom they had and was given it easily.

Just as you made to knock on the door, you had the sudden urge to leave. You frowned, lowered your hand and stared at the door. The urge didn’t relent. When a raised voice started coming from within the office, you put your ear to the wood and listened.

It was Illyrios himself and, if you weren’t mistaken, he was speaking with Leliana. Immediately withdrawing, you gave in to the urge and fled silently.

You didn’t wish to be anywhere near the spymaster.

That evening in the Fade, Curiosity and Justice were waiting. The little elf boy was looking up at the warrior woman as she frowned.

“What is it?” you asked, concerned.

“I found who the parchment was meant for,” Justice said. “A man of highly dubious standing.”

“Who?”

“Bernard Warrens; he’s a smuggler. He specialises in exotic cargo, and in this instance, he was to take new slaves to another in Tevinter.”

“Slaves,” you repeated, anger burning at your chest. Justice nodded solemnly. “So Illyrios was hoping to sell the children and servants.”

“The deal hadn’t been finalised,” she corrected. “He was using Warrens to correspond with this Tevinter slaver. They were trying to decide who to take and how many. He was aware he couldn’t sell them all, otherwise the ruse would be discovered.”

Looking sharply to the spirit now, you guessed, “That’s why Leliana was in his office earlier. She knew something was going on.”

Curiosity, who up until now had been rocking back and forth on his heels nervously, nodded in quick succession. “You were going to knock. I had to change your mind.”

“That was you?” you asked in surprise. In retrospect, it was obvious: though they could not do anything physically or be seen at all, a spirit could influence the Waking World with ‘suggestions’, such as an unfounded want to leave. Demons used this ability in the hopes of swaying weak minds. Someone with a stronger will could ignore such influences; others could not.

“She would have thought you were connected,” Curiosity frowned. “She’s not very forgiving.”

“Thank you for helping me, Curiosity,” you smiled and stroked a hand through his wispy hair. He perked up.

“The Nightingale doesn’t know his exact plans,” Justice added. “She suspected he was speaking to someone with criminal origins but not who or for what purpose. She spoke to him today to find out.”

“Was she successful?” You raised your brows.

Justice shook her head. “All evidence of the spoken encounter was destroyed or is currently sitting in your tent. She gave him lighter duties to keep a closer eye on him, posing it as a reward for hard work. He wasn’t happy.”

“A man like that wants flocks of people under his command,” you twisted your lips.

“Indeed.”

“’Tis a shame we can’t do anything about the slaver,” you sighed. “My reach doesn’t go far beyond Haven.”

“You must grow your network,” Justice advised. “There are people willing.”

You hummed in agreement, but you knew it would take time to amass such a following. Perhaps when you arrived in Skyhold, you could flourish further afield. A large and varied group of individuals would be visiting the old castle. For now though, you could only deal with Bernard Warrens and Illyrios.

* * *

Over the next week, between being summoned by Vivienne for thankfully little things, you kept an eye on the orphans and servants, making sure none had gone missing. It was due to this that you realised you couldn’t find Belraj, the responsible little Dalish boy. In a contained panic, you searched everywhere he was likely to be and, when that didn’t turn up results, you asked everyone you could think of who might recognise him. Eventually, you were pointed outside the walls and so you trekked past the sparring soldiers, through the immediate forest areas, around the frozen lake, among the servants’ tents, and had just made it back near the doors when you heard shouting in the blacksmith.

“He can’t be in ‘ere!”

“He’s just a lad!”

“He’s not an apprentice!”

You found Master Harritt and another blacksmith named Heath arguing in front of the forge. The other blacksmiths tried not to seem interested, their eyes focused on their work, but they were all clearly listening.

“Our trade relies on secrecy, we can’t let just anyone watch!” Harritt continued. Heath shook his head in exasperation.

Standing with tense shoulders and a stiff spine between the two was Belraj. Upon spotting you, he tried to shift his way over to you but Harritt’s gaze zeroed in on him and he put a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. Belraj flinched violently and you cried out, “Stop!”

“Miss Ollie,” Heath exclaimed, his jaw tight.

“What’s going on here?” you demanded. You knew both blacksmiths to be good men but seeing Belraj so scared had your hackles raised.

“The boy was found hiding amongst our wares,” Harritt said gruffly.

“I’m sure he wasn’t there to spy on your craft,” you replied, somewhat scathingly. “He’s only nine. He was probably just bored.”

You knew this wasn’t actually the case; Belraj was clearly injured and trying to conceal it, but you endeavoured to ease Harritt’s anger.

Unfortunately, he was stubborn. “Nine’s old enough. He can’t be in here.”

“He wasn’t doing anything wrong!” Heath exclaimed.

Before they could start yelling again, you took a deep breath, made your face open and polite, and said, “Let me take him off your hands and he won’t be back.”

Though he seemed inclined to disagree, Harritt nodded roughly and released Belraj. The boy quickly went to your side and you carefully put an arm around his back. Even at the light touch, he still winced away. Heath sighed and waved farewell as you guided the Dalish boy out of sight.

You took him to your little tent, knowing it would be empty at this time of day. Once under the meagre shelter, you made him sit on your bedroll and crouched beside him.

“Where are you hurt?”

He looked at you with wide eyes. You smiled kindly and took one of his hands. After a moment, he sighed and looked down. “My side.”

You went to lift his tunic, pausing to ask, “May I?” At his hesitant nod, you pulled it up gently and gasped at the colourful bruises obscuring his pretty brown skin. They spread all the way from his ribs to his back, with defined boot shapes. “Who did this?”

He squirmed a little. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” you told him firmly. “Who hurt you?”

“A soldier,” he mumbled then pressed his lips together.

Knowing he was unlikely to say more right now, you let his tunic drop down and hide the discolouration. With the faintest pressure, you brought him into your arms. He held himself oddly due to the pain, but his head pressed against yours and his fingers grasped your dress securely.

“Why were you in the blacksmith’s?”

“It’s warm there.” The weather was quite biting this week, especially so for a child.

Pressing a kiss to his hair, you promised, “I’ll find you a blanket.”

“I had one. Mine always get taken.”

You fumed inside. “Why do people take them?”

He shrugged against you. “People don’t like the Dalish.”

“Is that why the solider kicked you?”

He hummed in agreement and shifted against you, letting out a small groan.

 “Are you having trouble breathing?” you inquired quietly as he settled again.

“It’s aches when I take deep breaths,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes and sighed. You told him to stay there while you fetched a healer, but he protested. Before Haven became home to the Inquisition, the healers would charge for their services as any other tradesmen. Once the temple exploded and magical healers were also brought in, the charges were paid by the Inquisition. However, with the large influx of people in Haven, those who weren’t soldiers or nobility had to pay once again. You understood the necessity, and the charge wasn’t huge, but any fee seemed unreasonable when one was poverty-stricken.

Luckily, you had some coin to spare and said as much to Belraj.

“But that’s your money,” he objected. “You earned it.”

“And as it’s mine, I’ll decide on what to spend it,” you responded, before leaving with the small pouch of coins.

As you hurried to the healers, Nanin appeared beside you. “Thought I’d find you rushing the other way; I heard one of your kids are in the blacksmith.”

“It was Belraj,” you confirmed. This wasn’t the first time someone had referred to the orphans as yours. You weren’t unhappy with the concept. “Ir abelas, ma falon, but I don’t have time to chat. He’s hurt and I need to get him help.”

After a moment of simply following you, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you gently to a stop. When you looked up at him with frustration, he smiled. “I can help. Where is he?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes flitting between his earnest face and the healers’ tent, before deciding to trust him. You led the way.

“What happened?”

“A soldier,” you said shortly, your suppressed fury leaking through. He didn’t reply, though you saw his eyes had narrowed.

When you both climbed under the tent, Belraj watched him warily.

You had never asked Nanin about his personal life, but you knew from past comments that he’d been brought up among a Dalish clan. His face was bare of vallaslin so he must have left, or been taken, before his adulthood, just like Belraj. You suspected the two would get along soon enough.

“Where are you hurt, da’len?” Nanin asked, his voice soothing.

You nodded at Belraj when he glanced at you. Rather than replying, the boy just lifted his tunic and showed him. Rather than portraying any shock, Nanin simply raised a hand and held it inches from the boy’s battered skin. As a bluish glow lit up the tent, you withheld your surprise.

“You’re a mage,” Belraj gasped for you. Once the bruises were gone and the boy took a deep, easy breath, he smiled tentatively up at Nanin. “Thank you.” You felt relief overtake you at his lack of pain.

“Sathem lasa halani,” Nanin bowed to him.

The Elvhen made Belraj grin without restriction. When Nanin turned to you, you thought he’d look nervous or worried yet he seemed relaxed. “You weren’t concerned that I’d run for a templar?” you teased, but your smile was genuine.

“You are my friend,” he said simply and the sentiment warmed you. “I should return to my work. Would you like to join me?” he offered Belraj. The boy looked suspicious. “’Tis only field work and thus very dull, but I do like the peace and quiet away from Haven’s walls.”

At this, the boy perked up and agreed. You knew Nanin mentioned it only because soldiers didn’t walk the fields, and you were pleased that he cared.

“I’ll leave you both to it if you’re feeling better,” you commented. “I should go pick herbs for Adan.”

Belraj gave you a tight hug as goodbye and Nanin nodded, sharing a pointed look with you over the boy’s head. He would find out which soldier hurt your child and you would make sure that justice was dealt out in turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen:  
> Sathem lasa halani = pleased to help

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I have a Tumblr for news and ideas about all of my stories, existing and yet-to-be-written. **Feedback would be fantastic!** So if you want to interact with me more and have input on future decisions regarding my stories then head over to <http://fanpirex.tumblr.com>.
> 
> I look forward to possibly hearing from any of you! Thank you for reading my rambles, even if you don't wanna join in, and have a brilliant day!


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